“I can enjoy a love story, Brady,” I push back, tucking my feet under me on the couch. “Just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean that I only watch things where stuff blows up.”
She laughs. Man, I really like her laugh. It’s as if a decadent sound were dipped in chocolate. I’d like to hear it more often.
“I guess you have a point there.”
We continue watching another episode until she looks at her phone and then stops the show.
“Why’d you stop?” I whine.
“It’s getting late, and we still have a race tomorrow.” I look at my phone, and it’s later than I thought it was. “I’ll get the couch made up for you,” she says, getting items from the closet to make up the fold-out couch.
I stand as she pulls the couch out to make it flat and a bit longer. My feet are going to hang off the end, but it’s better than sleeping in a wet bed or my truck.
“I’ll turn off the lights so you don’t have to worry about it.” She flips off all the lights, and the storm that’s still going strong outside makes the room feel extra dark. She’s feeling her way around the room to make sure she doesn’t walk into anything.
As she walks by the pull-out couch, she hits the corner and loses her footing. I reach out in time to catch her by the waist before she has a chance to fall. We are chest to chest. I can only feel her still; my vision hasn’t adjusted to the darker space yet. Her breathing has picked up, along with her heartrate, keeping in time with my own. I wrap my arms further around her, pulling her as close as I’m able.
Just being this close to her, touching her, sends blood rushing south, and no amount of listing states and their capitals is going to make this go away. I’m sure she can feel it pressing into her, but she doesn’t pull away from me. Instead, her arms come up around my neck and her fingers begin to play with hair at the nape of my neck. I really need to get a haircut. I lean down, bringing my lips to hers. Sparks are flying between us as she grips me harder, keeping me in place, nails slightly digging into my skin.
Gently, I push her down onto the fold-out so that I’m pressing her back into the mattress. I cage her in with my hands on either side of her head and lean back in, even more hungry for her taste. I move to the side of her neck, licking and sucking her sweet spot. She tastes like fucking perfection. I palm her breasts over her shirt, and I can already feel how taut her nipples are as she moans into my mouth at the contact. I want more, I crave more. I’m going to ask for more, but she pulls away and stops me.
“Wait. What are we doing?” she pants.
“What?” I ask. My brain is trying to function as most of the blood in my body currently sits in my hard cock. I roll off her and we sit up.
“What are we doing? Is this a hookup? Making out? Should we even be doing this?” She rambles off the questions before I have a chance to answer any of them. I can tell her mind is running a million miles a minute, trying to compute what’s happening. I take her hand, lacing our fingers, and kiss her knuckles in reassurance.
“This doesn’t need a label if you don’t want it to. Or we can label it a hookup or making out. We don’t have to do anything at all if you don’t want to. You’re in control here,” I reassure her. I lean back in for another kiss, but she stops me by placing a hand on my chest.
“I need to know what this is, Dean. If I’m just another grid girl or not,” she says, looking up through thick lashes, the concern clear on her face. Something tells me that someone hurt her by leading her on, and that’s why she needs this clarification.
The problem is, I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t do relationships. I only do hookups and one night stands. Every girl knows what she’s signing up for with me. Now, I’m questioning what I want.
Could I be the relationship type? For the first time, I’m considering it. I’ve never really been in one to know if I can.
I run my fingers through my hair and sigh. “You’re not another grid girl, but I can’t give you an answer. The only thing I can tell you is that I feel—drawn to you in a way I’ve never felt before.”
A beat passes before she speaks again. “I feel drawn to you, too. We need to figure this out before we go any further.” She stands and looks down at me still sitting on the couch.
“If that’s what you want, then that’s what we’ll do. Like I said, you’re in control, Regan. I’ll never do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
She bites her lip, her mind spinning, getting in the way. She wants more, but I won’t push her into something she’s not sure of. Until she tells me to, I’ll keep my hands to myself. But she’s holding something back. I can tell by the way she shifts on her feet.
“What aren’t you telling me, Regan?”
“Nothing,” she responds a bit too quickly. I give her a look. I know there is something getting in the way, but I don’t push. She’ll tell me when she’s ready.
“Goodnight, Dean,” she says, cutting off any more conversation, and pads to the bedroom and closes the door.
“Goodnight,” I whisper to no one.
The hospital chair I’m sitting in is hard, small, and my thighs press against the arm rests, making them throb as we wait. My head in my hands as tears drip down my face and onto the hospital floor.
The room is small, and smells like antiseptic and bleach. It fills my senses as I take in what we were told when we arrived here. Daniel is gone. I wasn’t there and this is all my fault. I’m the older brother, he’s my responsibility. I don’t hear us being called, my mom pulls me up with them.
We follow the nurse down a long, brightly lit hallway, my parents on either side of me to see him one last time. She pushes through large metal doors and leads us to a sterile steel table. The nurse pulls the sheet back and there he is. No color to his skin, not breathing, no life left in him at all. I had just talked to him hours before, and now…nothing. I’ll never be able to talk to him again.
I lean over his body, taking his cold hand in my warm one. Hoping if I hold on long enough he will wake. Hoping that this isn’t real. But it is real. I’m here looking at my little brother’s lifeless body. The tears are still flowing from my eyes; they haven’t stopped since I got the news.
