A glaze of disappointment coats her eyes. "That's a tame night for Drew Anderson."
"Yeah, well..." I contemplate telling her about Cheyanne, but decide against it. "Game tomorrow."
"Right."
Neither of us say anything else. Instead, we wait another beat of silence before sliding on our helmets and hopping onto my bike.
I purposely turn out of the lot toward the long way back to her apartment building. Despite my time constriction, I'm not ready for our day to end, and I'm damn sure not in any rush for my date with Cheyanne.
Something about this ride is different. Maybe it's that we're more comfortable now. Maybe it's because this is the last one of the night. Or maybe I was right—something switched in Brooke during that photoshoot. Either way, she seems even closer than before, her hands resting by my hips, her legs pushed all the way forward so her front is flush against me.
It's charged. Like at any point I could pull over to the side of the road and without hesitation, we'd fall into each other. After a few red lights, I give in to temptation, taking a risk and dropping my palm from the handlebar to the outside of her thigh. She doesn't pull away like I thought she might, or startle even. Instead, she somehow sinks into me further, her legs hugging mine a bit tighter.
When I pull onto her street, anticipation rushes through me, a similar feeling to how I am on a windup, when the next few moments willdetermine the projection of the play. The score of the game. The reaction of the crowd.
Putting the bike into park, I let her swing her leg off before stomping my kickstand down and stepping off. Brooke hands me her helmet, and I throw it into my backpack before setting mine and my bag onto the seat.
"I'll walk you up," I say when she looks at me sideways.
There are no questions or objections. She simply nods and moves forward. At the top of the stairs, we turn into each other.
"Thanks for doing this today," she says first. "It was good content." I grin. "Fun even."
Cathartic.
"Was it what you expected?" I ask, my brow lifted upward.
Brooke looks at her feet, pressing the toe of her shoe into the pavement. "Uh, no, actually."
My smile grows wider. "I feel like that's a good thing." She doesn't answer, and I'm afraid of what I'll do with too much idle time between us, so I continue talking instead. "Well, have a good—"
"Do you want to come in?" She cuts me off, her eyes like a cartoon's when her brain catches up with the words that poured out. "Oh my God, no." She brings her hand to her forehead. "What am I doing?" she whispers to herself. "Pretend I didn't say that."
I stand there, completely dumbfounded by every word that just spewed out. I open my mouth, then seal my lips again, still unsure of what to say. "Brooke, did you just..." I start.
"No, I didn't—well, technically yes, I—"
"Uninvite me in?"
"Yes," she answers quickly. She sighs, her shoulders slumping forward. "Yeah, sort of."
I drag my hand slowly down my face, borderline afraid to make my next move. "Do you see it now?" I ask softly, holding my breath. "Me?" I take one step forward, so our chests are almost touching."Us?"
Brooke's head falls into her hands, leaving her words muffled. "Shit, I don't know."
"Hey," I whisper, pulling her wrists away from her face as I lean into her. "Talk to me."
She slowly brings her eyes to mine, and I actively stop myself from sliding my hand into her hair and slamming my lips to hers. She goes to speak, but as soon as the first word forms on her tongue, my phone vibrates twice from my pocket.
I ignore it, but either she's using it as an excuse to stay silent or she's easily distracted. "Tell me," I demand, slipping my palms over her cheeks. Again, the buzzing sound goes off, three hums this time, before Brooke can say what's on her mind.
I slide my phone out of my jeans and read the messages that riddle the screen.
Jane
Josephine's at six.
Jane
