“Michigan State isn’t that far,” I say, even though I know it doesn’t make it better. The fact of the matter is we won’t be able to just see each other whenever we want.
“It’s far enough,” he says quietly. “And it changes everything.”
“It doesn’t have to. We can still see each other.”
He cocks his head, and I can read what he’s thinking just by the expression on his face.Get serious.“With football and my training schedule, you might as well be transferring clear across the country.”
I tuck my legs underneath me, pleading with my eyes for him to listen. “We’ll still talk every day. We can FaceTime and see each other over Christmas and summer.”
Brandon reaches for his water bottle, taking a long swig while I watch the muscles in his throat work before returning my attention to his face. “Right. Because long-distance friendships always work out perfectly,” he drawls.
“Ours will,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “We’re not just any friends, Brandon. We’re . . .” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence because the truth is, Brandon has always held a special little piece of my heart, and I don’t want that to change any more than he does.
The emotion playing across his face makes my breath catch. His eyes, those deep blue eyes that have always seen rightthrough me, search mine for something I’m not sure I can define.
“We’re what, Tatum?” he asks, his voice softer than before.
I swallow hard. “We’re us. Brandon and Tatum. The dynamic duo,” I say, offering him a weak smile.
He nods slowly, but the disappointment is evident in the slight downturn of his lips. “Right. The dynamic duo.”
The silence between us stretches uncomfortably. I fidget with my phone for a minute, hating how awkward this feels when Brandon suddenly lunges forward and snags the paperback I’d abandoned in lieu of my phone.
The movement is so unexpected that I let out a surprised laugh, the tension between us breaking like a bubble popping.
“So, what’s the latest soap opera you’re losing yourself in?” he asks, flipping the book over to examine the cover. His eyebrows shoot up as he takes in the shirtless man. “Ah, I see we’ve got the classics here; brooding professional athlete meets feisty city girl who teaches him how to love again. Am I right?”
I snatch the book back, feeling my face warm. “Excuse you, this is a western romance with complex literary elements and serious themes about grief and resilience of the human spirit.”
“Western romance?” Brandon points at the cover. “He’s not even wearing a cowboy hat. And what kind of rancher in real life has abs like that?”
“The abs are artistic license,” I say primly, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. “And not all cowboys wear hats.”
He falls back against my pillows with a snort. “Next you’ll tell me he doesn’t even own a horse on his ranch.”
“He’s not a rancher,” I correct him, poking his side where I know he’s ticklish. “He’s a reformed bad boy, turned cowboy, licking his wounds after the death of his only love.”
Brandon jerks away from my finger, grabbing my wrist. “Let me guess, he sayshowdyandy’alla lot and has a mysterious scar?”
I try to maintain my dignity but dissolve into giggles. “Stop it! He doesnot.That’s terrible.”
“Terrible as in bad or terribly accurate?” He releases my wrist to flip through the book, landing on a random page, and his eyes widen theatrically. “Whoa, Tatum Rose! Is this what you’re reading in public?” He clears his throat and adopts a ridiculous hillbilly accent. “‘Darlin’, I been holdin’ back as long as I can, but I can’t keep these hands to myself no more—’”
“Brandon Michael Lambert!” I dive for the book, but he holds it just out of reach. “Don’t you dare.”
He continues reading, his accent getting worse with each word. “‘Yer body calls to me like the trail calls a restless horse—’”
“That is NOT in there!” I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts as I climb over him, trying to reclaim my book.
“How would you know? Maybe I’m improving it.” He’s laughing too, holding the book above his head while I practically climb him like a tree.
“Give it back, youliterary terrorist!”
“Literary terrorist?” He guffaws. “Has a nice ring to it. I’m putting that in my Bookstagram bio.”
“You don’t even have a Bookstagram.”
“Maybe I should. I bet a lot of people would follow me.”
