Chapter Eleven #3
He stopped partway down the hall. The colorful light from the overhead lamp painted dozens of red, pink, and orange reflections on his skin.
And I was suddenly very aware of how narrow the hallway was.
That it was hardly wide enough for us to stand shoulder to shoulder.
That when we turned to face each other, our chests were inches apart and heat radiated off his skin, and it set off a hollow kind of ache low in my gut.
I swallowed. Bad timing. Not the right guy to get all hot and bothered by. And for what? Because he complimented my home decor and looked good in mood lighting? I was a lost cause.
This was just because we’d played lovebirds all day. My body had probably been tricked into wanting to get laid. That was all.
Time to redirect.
“Can I please wash that stupid dye from your hair?”
“Now?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
“Sit.”
I gestured at the mismatched chairs around my dining table. I was not going to stay in a cramped little bathroom with him. Instead, I got a towel, a bowl of warm water, and some shampoo, and I stood between his knees and dabbed at his temples, bits of dark dye coming off with each stroke.
“Are you nervous about the interview going public?” he asked, perfectly distracting me from his woodsy scent and the warmth of his thighs on either side of mine.
“A little. I’m worried about the pictures, to be honest. I don’t look like I used to.”
“Addie, that’s a good thing. You were a pretty girl then, but you’re a stunning woman now.
You’ve grown into yourself.” The discomfort at those words must have been written all over my face, because he laughed and shook his head.
“You know, for someone in a narcissistic industry, you really don’t know how to take a compliment. ”
“You’re so earnest when you compliment me. And you look at me with those serious eyes. It’s not like, ‘Oh my god, you’re so hot, bestie!’ but so…genuine.”
“When I compliment you, I want you to hear every word. I say exactly what I mean.”
I paused my shampooing, my insides clenching around the hollow feeling. I didn’t even have to rack my brain for a way to redirect the conversation again though because my attention caught on his movements. Brooks ran his hands up and down his thighs. A little too fast to be casual.
“Are you uncomfortable? Do you want me to stop?”
“I’m fighting the impulse to put my hands on your waist.” He swallowed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. And I know you don’t like affection. I just like touch. Touch is…helpful. Grounding.”
Oh. Fuck. Well…I was distracted by my stupid body being a needy little bitch, and Brooks was respecting the fuck out of boundaries I’d barely voiced, indulging my request to wash his hair, and he could barely sit still.
We’d never specifically talked about the way he didn’t look me directly in the eye, just a little to the side, or the way he sometimes worded things that people could misinterpret as rudeness, how he wore the same clothes every day like a uniform, ate his food in certain orders, liked his daily routines, or how he rubbed his chest to soothe himself.
This was, however, one of the first times he’d voiced a sensory discomfort.
I took his hands and placed them on the curve of my waist. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Being touchy-feely doesn’t come natural to me,” I said and continued my work on his hair.
“It’s mostly public displays of affection, physical affection, that feel icky.
It’s not how I express my love, and I sometimes feel compelled to go along to avoid causing a scene, which makes it even more uncomfortable.
But I don’t mind being touched. If tactility is your thing, I can work with that. Just don’t expect me to reciprocate.”
“Fuck, now I’m sorry for making you put on public spectacles.”
“That’s different. I’m happy to do that for you and Skye.” I smiled. “Also, swear jar.”
He chuckled and let the tips of his thumbs trace the lacy pattern of my top, curving up and down my stomach. Little goosebumps sprouted in the wake of his touch, and I was thankful for the fabric covering the sight.
As I worked my towel through his hair bit by bit, his eyes fluttered shut, and his shoulders relaxed, his fingers never ceasing to trace patterns while his breathing slowly evened out. He really liked touch.
“I have a question, but you can choose not to answer if you don’t want to,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Ask away.”
“That guy from the Stallions, the one who comes to town once a month…If you don’t like getting touchy-feely, what was the appeal?”
“You don’t have to be touchy-feely to have sex,” I couldn’t help but chuckle, “which is all it ever was with Sam.”
“And after all this is over, is that still what you want? Just a guy to have sex with every now and again?”
If he felt my stomach tense at the question, he didn’t show it.
“I don’t know,” I replied truthfully, because being with Brooks all day had been so effortless, but that kind of connection wasn’t easy to come by.
“I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t going to enrich my life significantly.
I’m not going to find myself a boyfriend just for the sake of having one.
I think a lot of men can’t handle that—a woman who doesn’t care whether or not she’s single, and one who won’t fawn all over them physically either. ”
“Hmm.” His hands lightly squeezed my sides, twice. The double squeeze was becoming a small automatic comfort. “They’re missing out.”
Goddammit. He couldn’t just go around saying things like that when I was fighting like hell against being attracted to him. He was my friend, and a dad, and he was building a life here, and I didn’t want to ruin this by acting on silly impulses.
“All done,” I said and dropped the towel on the table.
Brooks didn’t let go of my waist. His pretty hazel eyes fluttered open and he glanced up at me.
His thumbs still caressed my stomach, and maybe I should have stepped away, but one of them circled down far enough to catch the hem of my top, and when it came back up, it brushed over bare skin.
My breath stuttered from my lungs. One brush of his thumb and goosebumps raced up my neck and down my arms. He watched me, waiting.
And I didn’t move. And he kept circling his fingertip under my top.
I couldn’t breathe. The air around us was too thick.
Too hot. His mouth was right there, and I knew that if he kissed me like he had in the stairwell that day, I would forget all about smart boundaries.
The doorbell broke the spell. I practically jumped at the sudden ringing, too loud in the charged silence. Brooks’s hands fell off me.
Friendship literally saved by the bell.
“Mom?” I opened the door to my mother with her hair in a messy bun, her contacts replaced by thick-framed glasses, and mismatched socks shoved into Birkenstocks.
“I want to meet him.” She blew past me into the living room.
“Were you spying on us?”
“I can see your driveway out of my living room window.” She waved me off as if that wasn’t an invasion of my privacy.
“Yeah, the one with the sofa pushed up against it. You’d have to be sitting on it the wrong way around to see us coming home.”
“Okay, so maybe I was spying a little.” She turned on her heels to face Brooks, who had gotten up from his chair. “You’re Mr. Monroe.”
“Yes, ma’am, but you can call me Brooks,” he said with a perfectly polite smile.
“I’ll call you Mr. Monroe, thank you very much.” She pushed her fists into her sides and tapped her foot against the floor as she gave him an excruciating once over. “You’re tall.”
“Yes, ma’am. Six-foot-one.”
“You know a man needs more qualities than height and thick hair to make him a good husband, right?” She whirled on me. “And you can’t marry him just because he’s rich.”
“Mom. Oh my god, can you please leave? This is borderline harassment.” I held the door open for her and tried to shoo her out like an animal. “I’ll bring him to Sunday brunch. You can properly meet him then.”
“I’m sorry. Am I cockblocking you?” she hissed and narrowed her eyes at me.
“Mom!”
“What’s wrong with your face?” Apparently now that she had seen Brooks in person, she finally gave me a proper look for the first time. “Why are you covered in makeup? Is he making you wear makeup?”
“Nobody is making me do anything. We took some pictures today.”
She opened her mouth again, but this time I grabbed her by the arm, the embarrassment giving me the superhuman strength to box her out the door.
“We will talk on Sunday! Bye now!” I dropped with my back against the door, a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh erupting from my chest. “I’m sorry.
She’s overprotective, but that wasn’t cool. ”
“Addie, I can’t do Sunday.” He rubbed his chest in clear discomfort.
“You can’t?”
“Skye’s grandparents are coming to town.”