Chapter Eight #2
“Is that normal?” I have no idea how the ins and outs of baseball work, but the way Gareth’s describing it, it seems a little…off.
His nose scrunches. “Eh. Could be a paperwork snag or something. Or maybe he doesn’t even know yet. The new owner isn’t as forthcoming as he could be.”
I nod and take another sip of my water, not sure of how to respond to that. Silence falls between us, but it isn’t uncomfortable.
It’s heated.
Our gaze stays connected as I take another drink of my water, then set the glass down. As I lick a droplet from my lips, Gareth’s line of vision falls, watching me before lifting his own glass, scanning the patio as he gulps it down.
If dinner doesn’t come soon, I fear one of us will crack. There are fantasies running through my mind of Gareth putting me in all sorts of positions, finally knocking down all of the walls between us. But I know exactly how to throw cold water over the heat between us.
“Can you believe Dylan’s jet-setting off to another adventure tomorrow? Hopefully the food poisoning doesn’t delay him.”
“Nothing delays him.” Gareth’s voice betrays him, coming out rough and strained.
“True.” I force a laugh, my thoughts still straying to the dirty thoughts of Gareth I can’t ignore. “Thailand’s been his dream since we were kids.”
“Speaking of Dylan, he told me something interesting a few days ago.” The muscle in Gareth’s jaw tics, making my heart quicken.
What the hell could Dylan have said?
“Oh?” I ask tentatively.
The waiter arrives again and sets our plates down in front of us, offering Gareth pepper for his salmon, but he declines.
“He said you went to a Bears game with some friends.”
Shit, shit, shit.
Picking up his fork, he breaks a piece of his fish apart, then takes a bite, chewing it slowly.
My heart races—that feeling of being caught pulsing through me. Attending a baseball game isn’t a crime though—not unless you have a baseball player in your life who’s been asking you to come to one for years, in which case I haven’t just committed a crime, I’ve earned myself a felony charge.
“It was a last minute thing.” Not entirely a lie. “Good game though.”
Good game though? Jesus, I’m a dick.
Cutting into my filet mignon, I savor the bite I take and hope Gareth drops the subject, but I already know he won’t.
“Good game though,” he repeats, voice flat.
I peek up at him, and with a deep sigh, I drop my fork a little too loudly, causing a few of the others on the patio to look in our direction.
“Gareth—”
“How many times have I told you, if you wanted tickets to a game, all you have to do is ask? I could have gotten you and all of your friends seats in the VIP box and—where were you even sitting?”
I snort, remembering Elle’s obstructed view. “In the last row.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Indy! The nosebleeds?”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I argue.
“Jesus,” he hisses, shaking his head. “Promise me next time you’ll tell me when you and your friends want to go to a game. If you won’t sit in the VIP box, then fine, but at least let me get you better seats.
I swallow my pride—and my heart—and nod. “Okay. I promise.”
“Good.” He relaxes and takes another big bite of his food.
We slide into safe topics again, and he tells me a story about his friend Austin that makes me fall into a fit of laughter. The conversation flows easily, never falling back into dangerous territory, well past the point of our plates being cleared.
After paying the check, Gareth walks me to my car. I parked a couple of blocks away after struggling to find anything closer. We walk with little distance between us, our arms brushing every couple of steps.
Gareth smiles, purposely bumping into my shoulder. “This is the best non-date I’ve ever been on. Thanks for showing up.”
I look up at him, but his gaze is still pointed forward. “Well, to be fair, I didn’t know Dylan had canceled.”
His smile slips for a second until his head turns and he realizes I’m still watching him. He tilts his head. “Still think he’d kill us both?”
The air whooshes from my lungs, his question catching me off guard. My gaze falls to the sidewalk, and I play with my ring. Disappointment and longing settle in my chest. “Probably.”
Turning abruptly, he stops in front of me, catching my hand in his. “I’m starting to have a hard time continuing to give a shit what Dylan thinks, Indy.”
His eyes sear into mine, searching for anything he can grasp onto.
“He’d never forgive us.”
“He’d have to at some point,” he argues, shifting slightly. There’s no distance between us—we’re chest to chest, me looking up at him while he gazes down.
“We can’t…”
“I know.”
“He’s my brother, your best friend. He made it clear years ago that he’d hate us both.”
“Dammit, I know.” Gareth steps back, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “I remind myself every day how much Dylan would hate us. It’s the only thing that’s stopped me from finally making you mine, Indy.”
Desperation courses through me at his words, his desire palpable between us. I swallow around the lump in my throat, and something inside of me snaps, another thread fraying.
I need time to think and to process whether I’m truly ready to take the risk of potentially blowing up one of the most important relationships of my life.
We’re both consenting adults, and I’ve wanted Gareth since the moment I met him. The fact we’re both tiptoeing around my brother’s—my grown ass, twenty-eight-year-old brother’s—feelings is insane.
But we are.
And one dinner can’t throw years of torture out of the window.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way to my car. Thank you for dinner, Gareth.”
Raking his hand through his hair again, he nods a few times, like he’s trying to talk himself off a ledge. “Anytime, Indy. I mean it. Anytime.”
There’s a second where I think he’s going to kiss me. He leans in, close enough where I can smell the faint notes of his cologne and hear the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. For a moment, time stands still. Anticipation clouds me, and I fight against my eyelids fluttering closed.
My heart’s cracked open and raw, bleeding in the palm of his hands.
Why do we do this to ourselves? This push and pull. The unnecessary heartbreak. The years of torment.
The warmth of his breath skates against my cheek as he dips his head, my eyes finally flickering closed. Then he whispers, “Goodnight, Trouble.”
A small gasp whistles past my lips as he pulls away, his steady presence being ripped away.
“Goodnight,” I rasp, my entire being thrown off-kilter from this entire exchange—this entire night, really.
By the grace of a higher power, my feet guide me the rest of the way to my parked car, although I don’t remember consciously deciding to walk away from him. The night feels darker now, and I’m hyperaware of every sound, every breath I take.
I’m acutely aware of Gareth following behind me, giving me space as he follows, but providing a safe presence I can’t help but to appreciate.
My keys tremble in my hand as I unlock the door, every fiber of my being begging me to throw all caution to the wind, turn around, and run to him.
Turning just enough to look over my shoulder, I confirm what I already knew. Gareth stopped several feet away, standing under a streetlight, focusing entirely on me.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then I get into my car, creating a distance between us I immediately hate.
For years, we’ve survived on secret moments, never fully succumbing to the attraction between us, content to keep that line between us in place in an effort to protect my brother.
But tonight? Something shifted. The line didn’t just blur.
I think it may have vanished entirely.