“What?”
I smirked, nudging her toward the table. “I can tell you’re trying to think of something to make me feel better, but you being here is enough. Go study. Kick ass. I’ll head to the gym for an hour, but that’s all I’ve got planned.”
Her eyes softened, but she didn’t argue. “Are you sure?”
“More than sure.”
As she sat down, I handed her a speaker, smirking. “Here. Connect your phone and play whatever weird music you want.”
She grinned, already reaching for a highlighter. “Thank you.”
I watched her for a moment longer, then laughed as she pointed toward the door.
“Go work out and get more muscles.”
That had me laughing, and I went to change. It was a pleasant feeling knowing she’d be there when I got back.
19
Michelle
Brooks madethe entire concept of being with him feel possible. I had gotten all my work done, studied without distraction, enjoyed every inch of his body, and laughed more than I had in months. He insisted on watching car-crash movies—the kind that were so bad you couldn’t look away—and somehow, they were entertaining as hell.
"Just one more," he had said, grinning at me with that cocky, stupidly charming smirk that I was quickly becoming addicted to. And somehow, that turned into Anchorman, which was still playing in the background as I lay curled against his chest, his arm draped firmly around my stomach. It felt natural, easy, right—like we had been doing this for months, not just weeks.
Brooks shifted slightly, his grip tightening around me, his voice deep and teasing. “Comfortable enough?”
I pressed against him, inhaling his scent—clean, woodsy, entirely him. “Almost.”
He let out a low chuckle, his breath warm against the back of my neck, and I sighed in contentment when he held me tighter.
“Can I ask you a question?” I murmured, running my fingertips along the veins in his forearm.
"Always," he said without hesitation. "What’s on your mind?"
I was grateful I was facing away from him because I wasn’t sure I could get this out while looking into his eyes. Why me? Out of all the women in the world, why had he chosen me? It wasn’t that I lacked confidence. I knew I was smart, strong, capable—but I also knew I was a mess, stubborn, complicated as hell.
So why me?
"Why did you pick me?" I asked quietly.
He stilled slightly behind me, his fingers pausing for a beat before continuing slow, soothing strokes over my skin. "Why you… what?"
"I have issues with dating, I can only hang out twice a week at most, and I don’t even pretend to be low-maintenance. So why are you trying this with me?"
His exhale was slow, like he had been waiting for me to ask that.
“Relationship,” he corrected. “You’re going to have to say it at some point.”
I rolled my eyes, thankful he couldn’t see. “We’ll see.”
His chuckle rumbled against my back, but his voice was serious when he spoke. “The night I first met you, you had this attitude about you. A strong, kick-ass attitude that was hot as hell. You walked into that bar, declined two offers for drinks, ordered two shots of whiskey for yourself, and left like you owned the place.”
His voice dropped lower, more deliberate. "You’re your own person, Mitch. You have your own goals, your own drive. Becoming a nurse means more to you than what I do for a living, and that’s what I need—someone who has their own life but brings joy to mine. And you do that."
I swallowed hard, something tightening in my chest. It was too much. Too real. Too good. So I deflected.
"I didn’t even realize you were relationship-ing me," I muttered, shifting slightly.
