Chapter Sixteen
“You have a lot of stuff,” I remarked tiredly to Britte.
We had been in the process of moving her out of the dorms and into my apartment all day. It was Saturday and I was still tired from my date with Fin last night. This was supposed to be life after the date, our relationship back to normal. But it was hard to forget all those kisses, all the places Fin’s hands traveled on my body. But I had to. I had to focus.
With the help of Fin and Jameson, the first part of our day started at the dorms where we loaded everything into all four vehicles. Jameson drove a truck and Fin drove an SUV and then with Britte’s VW BUG and my Suburu for the little stuff, we were able to cram it all in in one trip. On top of everything for her room she had a recliner and end table for the living room and her dad was driving up an old couch and TV from his basement tomorrow.
All the furniture would be mismatched but at least that room would have something in it. It was kind of depressing to stare at an empty room that used to be filled with nice things and then stolen by the spawn of Satan.
We were back down at street level now, attempting to work the recliner out of the bed of Jameson’s truck. I was sweaty, every one of my muscles ached and I was on edge from having to watch Fin lift boxes all morning.
He’d kept his distance from me since our debacle of a race on Monday. It was Sunday. We’d been able to go almost an entire week without mauling each other. I felt good about this. Of course I had to ignore the melting puddle of lust I became every time I stood in the same room as him, but that was just a minor detail.
What was worse, way, way, way worse, was that now, after our little heart to heart, I was attracted to Fin the person, not just Fin the man. And while he was a very, nice, very perfect man, he was an even better person, with depth and character and goodness. He was like my dream man and I couldn’t have him, or touch him, I probably shouldn’t even be looking at him.
All because of freaking Tara and her thieving, lying, cheating ways. She officially ruined my life.
“Lift from the knees!” Britte snapped at me. She had been throwing out random pieces of weightlifting advice all morning because she thought it was amusing. The first several times she told us to “Hydrate or Die-drate,” I laughed. Now, her advice was draining my patience.
“Beckett is pissed you didn’t ask him to help us,” I changed the subject before she could remind me to breath in through my mouth and out through my nose. “He texted me earlier to let me know how disappointed he was in you.”
“I know, he texted me too,” she said quietly, reverting into herself. She had been doing that lately, every time I brought up one of my brothers.
“He texted you? Since when do you guys text?” my jaw kind of hung open. Beckett didn’t text girls unless he was demanding a booty call. And since when had he and Britte exchanged numbers?
“Ok, Ellie, don’t hate me,” she whispered fiercely from the other side of the recliner.
We were carrying it upright through the parking lot since the base was the heaviest part, but had to readjust through the doorway.
“You should never start stories like that,” I whispered back and then realized I was whispering. I stood up straight and adjusted the chair so I could walk backwards up the next three flights of stairs with the light end.
Britte grunted from her end but continued, “So, in a night of drunken stupor, one that I don’t even remember…. Apparently Beckett and I….”
“Oh, no. What? What did you do?” I gasped, both impatient and reluctant to hear the end of this story.
“We made out, that’s it. Or that’s all that Beckett will tell me happened. Because honestly, I don’t remember. I am for sure still a virgin though, so we didn’t go that far,” she finished almost as an afterthought.
“How do you know for sure?” I went back to whispering, terrified for my friend and murderous for my brother.
“Because Beckett said, ‘Jesus Christ Britte, if I would have taken your virginity you would have goddamned remembered it,’” she flinched and then said, “That’s a direct quote.”
“Sounds like him,” I had to agree. “How could you not remember?”
“I was really drunk, and it was late. I remember hanging out with him earlier in the night and there are these vague memories I get of him and me with, uh, very little clothes on, but I’m not sure what’s real.” She sounded thoughtful but muffled, probably from how the recliner was balanced on her forehead.
“We should have made Fin and Jameson get this,” I huffed.
“Weren’t we trying to prove something about women’s rights?” Britte panted back.
“Stupid, so stupid. Men can have the heavy lifting jobs. I’ll sweep and mop and vacuum.”
“And the trash jobs, anything involving trash,” she agreed. “I’ll do other womanly stuff, like scrub toilets and fold clothes.”
“We’re so forward thinking,” I noted.
“We’re like post-feminist. The new-age-feminist.”
“I would laugh, but I can’t breathe.” In fact, I had stopped breathing and started grunting. This could not be attractive. But we were on the final flight, almost there. “So how did you find out it was Beckett?”
