“Then why did you ask for my number last week?” she snaps.
Jesus fucking Christ. “Look, you seem like a great girl, but you can’t just show up at my dorm and interrogate me?—”
“I’m not interrogating you, I just want answers.”
The very definition of interrogating…
Her hands float to rest on her hips, impatience oozing out of her. “Are you taken?”
Her question takes me by surprise. “What?”
“Do you have a girlfriend, Gareth? Because if you do, maybe she’d want to know that you’re leading other girls on.”
I laugh bitterly, my head absolutely reeling over this exchange. The guys aren’t going to believe me when I tell them, but I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
“I think you should go now.” Stepping around her, I open my door. “I’m sorry you feel like I’m leading you on somehow, but you’ve mistaken my kindness for interest. It won’t happen again.”
Her mouth is slightly agape, probably surprised that I’m kicking her out right now, although I can’t imagine why she’d be surprised at this point. I move out of the way so she can get past me, and after a few seconds, she snaps out of it and goes.
She’s only a few steps down the hall when I shake my head and call out her name. She stops, turning to look at me over her shoulder. “Iamtaken, by the way.”
I don’t wait to see the look on her face or give her the chance to respond before I shut the door and flip the lock.
Dickhead move, yes. But a necessary one. To immediately assume, whatever it is she assumed, after a couple weeks of flirting in class and a few text messages, tells me all I needto know—she probably wouldn’t have stopped harassing me otherwise.
And honestly, I didn’t lie.
Iamtaken. Indy might not be officially mine, but I’m hers in every sense of the word.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The week has moved at a snail's pace, each hour crawling by as if the day will never end. When I finally crack my eyes open late Wednesday morning, I’m a ball of anxious butterflies.
Gareth’s declaration at the bar has been replaying in my mind, over and over, while I imagine different scenarios of how things could be between us and the reaction my brother will have.
At this point, I’ve made peace knowing Dylan is going to be upset, but like Gareth said—we’ve gone too long making him the priority.
We werekidswhen Dylan told me he would never forgive me or Gareth if we got together. I’ll never forget the look on Gareth’s face when he stepped out of the locker room at the very moment that promise left Dylan’s mouth.
None of us have breached the topic again, though, so who’s to say Dylan’s reaction would still be the same? For all I know, he could be thrilled for us and think it’s a good thing.
Itisa good thing.
Since we were thirteen years old, it’s always been the three of us. Our dynamic would be different, butwewouldn’t be. Garethand Dylan would still be best friends. Him and I would still be siblings. The only thing that’d be different is Gareth and I could finally be together.
Honestly, things would be better. These last several years have been strained, to say the least, because I’ve been doing my damnedest to stay away from Gareth, knowing I didn’t have the willpower to resist the pull to him forever. It was only a matter of time before this day came. I knew it with every fiber of my being, but I’m utterly terrified to know what Gareth and I being together would ultimately mean for the relationship between me and my brother.
But first, it’s time to explore my relationship with Gareth. Excitement and nerves fill me knowing tonight everything will change.
I go through the motions of my daily routine, hoping to pass the time without hyper-fixating on tonight. I scrub the hell out of my kitchen, working until the stainless steel appliances and sink shine better than they did when I moved in.
A long shower calls my name next, so I step inside and let the hot water cascade over me until I am pruney and the water turns chilly, then I take my time doing my makeup and getting dressed.
By noon I’m going stir crazy, so I throw an oversized flannel over my sports bra and tug on a pair of Uggs. The sun is shining, but I’m in the mood to be cozy until I have to get ready for the game. My yoga pants hug me like a second skin, so I still look put together as I head out the door.
The drive to Andromeda is fast, the bar quiet when I use my key to go inside. I know Rosie is here—she’s always here, so I make my way to her office.
Her eyes barely lift from the laptop when I burst in, and she flails her hand in greeting.
