My heartbeat races so quickly that I’m pretty sure it tripped over itself. I’m so bad at this; I can’t form words. There’s too much chaos in my brain to form a coherent thought, let alone a flirty one.
This is what I’m here for—well, this is the precursor for it, anyway. And I don’t know how to do it. I’ve watched Gianna reel men in a million times in our lives, and now that it’s me with the hot guy in front of me, who I think is waiting for me to make a move, I’m frozen. This is horrible.
“I want to apologize to you,” Brooks says, running a hand through his hair. “If I made you uncomfortable about your whimsy list, I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention, and it’s bugged me since I left that I might’ve made you feel some sort of way about it.”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” I say. “It was kind of a relief, to be honest.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying another sip of my beer.So gross. “You gave me a lot to think about.”
He lifts a brow, amused. “I love that you find me so intellectually stimulating.”
“I don’t know aboutthat,” I say, giggling. “But the boxing thing—about hesitation. If you overthink things, you hesitate and get punched. I’ve been pondering that. It gave me a kick in my backside because I do that. I overthinkeverything. By the time I decide something, I’ve lost a year.”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t push.
I take another drink. This time, it’s minimally less revolting, and I can get an entire mouthful down without needing to hurl. Brooks waves at a couple heading toward the dartboard while I swallow.
“You know,” I say, pressing a palm against my chest to steady the burn. “That whole boxing analogy was something my brother would say.”
“Really? Does your brother box?”
I shrug. “Kind of? He’s a mixed martial artist, which means, I think, that he does a little of everything. That’s how I understand it, anyway.” I pick at the label on my bottle. “Well, hewasa fighter. He’s setting up his own gym now and serving on a commission.”
“That’s … interesting.” He clears his throat, growing eerily calm. “Who is your brother?”
“Andrew Van.”
Brooks’s expression shifts as something clicks inside his head. His eyes narrow slowly, but unmistakably. He pulls away from the table for a split second before blowing out a heavy, heated breath.
What’s that about?
“Do you know him?” I ask, unsure how to read his reaction. I don’t mention Drew to people I don’t know because it eitherdoesn’t matter—they don’t know who he is—or they only want to talk about him. I don’t think either is the case tonight.
He swallows. “Yeah, I know him.”
“It’s a small world.”
“You could say that.” He runs a hand over his mouth and laughs softly. “Doc, I’m going to be honest with you. Drew and I aren’t friends, and I highly doubt that he’d love the fact that you’re sitting here with me right now.”
What?I wait for him to laugh or tell me he’s joking, but he doesn’t. He just watches me with the same somber, slightly concerned look that he’s worn for the past couple of minutes.
“I’m a fighter, too,” he says. “I’ve crossed paths with Drew a few times over the years.”
No way.He’s a fighter, too?My lips twist.He could totally afford to have his arm fixed.
“I’m in town because I got hurt last year,” he says. “I’m here until I’m cleared to go back to fighting.”
A darkness settles over his features, but I don’t ask about it. I’m too shocked that he knows Drew … and they don’t get along.
“Why don’t you like Drew?” I ask slowly. Most people love my brother, and I’ve never heard someone just outright say they dislike him. I can’t fathom what must’ve happened between them.
“Anything I say is going to come from my perspective, obviously, and I’m not going to sit here and talk shit about your brother—regardless of whether I think it’s true or not.”
I smile. “I appreciate that. Drew has his flaws, as we all do, but he’s a good brother. He’s very protective of me.”
“I bet he is.”
