“Would it be so bad if I did? It was just wardrobe advice, and I?—”
Before I can speak, Brielle’s whipping back around, cutting her off. “You’re beautiful the way you are. If I could pull off your clothes, I’d wear them, too. They’re perfectly you, and that’s all that matters.”
My throat constricts. With my hands on my lap, I look at the woman sitting in the seat beside me and try to digest what she’s just said. There’s a sharp jab in my chest that has me wanting to thank her, but I ignore it, not wanting to draw more attention to this.
Evie’s never dressed like everyone else, and certainly nothing like Brielle. They couldn’t be more opposite. Where Brielle’s wearing pink sparkles and heels high enough to make most women’s ankles tremble, Evie opted for flat brown shoes and a crocheted sweater with chunky buttons to match. She’s always been this way. There’s little rhyme or reason to her clothes because she wears whatever she feels like, no matter the occasion.
As far as I knew, that never bothered her.
Have I really missed such a big shift?
“That’s nice of you to say,” Evie says flippantly.
Brielle leans further over the middle console, too close to falling into the back seat. “Nice, sure. But it’s the truth.”
“She’s right,” I say, looking back while clearing my throat.
Evie’s eyes move to me now, tightening at the corners. “Now I know you’re just saying this to make me feel better about myself. You don’t know anything about fashion.”
There’s a loud half-laughing, half-snorting sound from beside me before Brielle speaks. “While that may be true, I don’t think he’s doing that. I’m not blowing smoke up your ass by saying this, Evie. I don’t lie to my friends.”
A beat of silence passes through the car.
“Well . . . alright then. I’ll believe you.”
Brielle reaches deeper into the back seat and squeezes Evie’s hand before flopping back into her seat. She huffs and leans her head back against the seat before rolling it in my direction. There’s something knowing in her expression that encourages me to lift the corner of my mouth into a slight smile. It’s enough to portray my gratefulness for what she just did.
She gives me one back—bigger, of course—before I glance away and finally drive away from the bar.
“I didn’t need an escort.”
“Don’t fight about this,” I grunt, hovering a hand near her back, but not touching.Refusingto.
“I was pointing out the obvious, not fighting.”
“We need to talk.”
Brielle stalls for a beat, her heels no longer clacking on the pavement. Her green eyes are darker out here, hidden from the light. Not being able to see the gold flakes inside of them frustrates me for some reason.
“I’m not going to apologize for what I said to her in the car. I know you might not think that I can relate to her because I come off super confident, but I do. There was a time when I didn’t have any sort of identity, and then when I found the one I thought I wanted, I realized it was all wrong, and I wasn’t the only one who noticed?—”
Her words die the moment I step into her and guide her backward. She blinks up at me with surprised eyes and waits until her back is making contact with a cement wall to reach for my side. Her touch burns as hot as it did the first time, only now, it has the chance to settle, spreading fast.
Trapped in the alley between her apartment building and the office beside it, we settle into the shadows. It’s wrong to be here with her. To be so close and allowing her to touch me, even if it’s somewhere as innocent as my hip. I shouldn’t be bringing my hand to the bare skin of her waist, nor should I be smoothing my palm over the soft hairs at the top of her head and cupping the back of it.
And she sure as fuck shouldn’t lean into me with those pouty lips rolling together.
“Thank you,” I say, not blind to the huskiness of my voice.
“For what?”
“Being a friend to her.”
She tips her chin up, her head tipping back a bit. “See? I’m not as little as you think I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Do I need to beg you, Roman? Will that be enough to have you finally giving in to me? To this?”
