You’re sitting in your best friend’s older brother’s apartment without your shoes while eating toast on his couch. What the fuck is wrong with you?
“Coffee?” he asks. From this angle, he looks a hundred percent more intimidating. I nod gently and take the mug from him, reaching out with my bad hand, only for him to shake his head and wait for me to take it with the other. “Do you want something for the pain?”
Sure, yeah, actually instead, you can just shoot me now because explaining this to Sunday later is going to kill me anyway.
“That would be… awesome…” I grind out. I’m practically choking on thick shame.
“Rhea, we didn’t have sex,” he says sharply, staring at me like I should know better. “You passed out drunk on the couch after ranting about some color thing you do.” He explains, but all I can focus on is the rogue curl falling against his forehead.
“Oh, thank god.” I gasp and set the plate on the table with a gentle thud. “Auras.”
Brighton shakes his head and wanders away, “Yeah, that’s the party trick.”
“So nothing else happened?” I ask, turning on the couch to face him in the kitchen. He leans his back against the counter and takes a drink of his coffee.
“You might have broken your hand?” he shrugs. “You should go in and have it looked at.”
“Why were you naked, then?” I interrupt.
“Shirtless,” he corrects, scowling. “It’s what I sleep in,” he adds, his eyebrows scrunched up. “You’re in my home.”
“Right,” I agree with that. “And it’s fine. I’d know if it was broken. Been there, done that.”
Brighton watches me carefully, not saying a word as I ramble through the embarrassment and look around the apartment for my boots. He points with his coffee to the front door, and there they are, sitting neatly up against the wall. I nod, standing and stealing a piece of toast off the plate to slip between my teeth.
“I’m sorry about last night, getting drunk probably wasn’t the smartest decision considering everything that’s happening, but it sure felt good in the moment,” I say, looking at my bruised hand. “Luckily, I have an excuse for the principal about my hand and won’t be out of a job and a condo…” A pathetic laugh bubbles from me.
“I heard,” he offers with a tight jaw. “Loveday is pretty good at renovations if you need someone to do repairs—”
“I don’t even know how I’m going to afford all of this bullshit, I’m going to have to get another job that doesn’t interfere with school hours and rugby…” I sigh, rambling on and completely forgetting that I’m standing in the middle of his living room.
“Thanks for, uh…” I gesture at the couch.
“Thanks for punching Derek,” he says, setting down his coffee. “Hey.” He closes the gap between us as I try to pull on my boots with one hand. I swear, take a deep breath and try again.
“Sit.” He palms the back of the stool at the island and turns it toward me.
“I’m not letting you put my shoes on, I’m full up on doing embarrassing things in front of Sunday’s brother,” I groan and keep working at the boot, two seconds away from leaving in my socks.
“I’m the one who took them off you. Nowsit.” It rolls off his tongue as a gentle demand, and when I look up, he nods at the seat, not taking no for an answer. I pad over to the stool as he switches spots, grabs my boots, and squats down in front of me. Even on the stool, his shoulders sit level with my hips, and he looks up at me like it's the most normal thing in the world to be putting my boots on.
It’s fine that Brighton’s face is level with your fucking vagina, Rhea. Everything is totally normal and fine.
"You can pick up shifts at the Hollow,” he says, swallowing hard as his finger pulls at the first zipper.
“I couldn’t work a bar even if it was only opening beers and flirting with men, Brighton,” I huff, and a tiny smile forms on his stern face.
“Bright,” he corrects me, “and we need more security on game nights. And you happen to have a better right hook than my current guy, so…”
“A bouncer?” I snort. “You’d pay me to hit men?”
“I’d pay you to make sure no one is causing trouble,” he warns slowly as he palms my calf and slips the second boot on, his hand eclipses it and makes it look tiny in his grasp.That’s not an easy thing to do.
“Why?” I ask him as he zips it.
“You look after Sunday.” He inhales and rises to his full height as I slip from the stool. We come chest to chest, and I get the faintest feeling of deja vu as his eyes flicker downward. He clears his throat and steps back. “You can start tomorrow night, there’s a hockey game.”
I nod and move toward the door, “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare room?”
