Chapter 14 Brooklyn #2
Vincent kept his eyes firmly on my face. “Goodnight.”
I waited for him to turn his back before I sprinted to my room, closed the door, and locked it for good measure. I glanced at my reflection.
Yep, definitely a good thing I didn’t leave while he was watching. My butt was hanging out like nobody’s business.
I changed into pajamas and flopped onto my bed. I couldn’t stop replaying our hallway interaction in my head.
In hindsight, I should’ve used the towel situation to my advantage. If I couldn’t have gotten him to kiss me, I could’ve at least tortured him a bit. But the moment hadn’t felt right, and I didn’t want to win with something as obvious and heavy-handed as nudity. I had limits.
My phone pinged with a new text. I picked up my phone, grateful for the distraction.
Mason
What are you up to?
We’d been texting since the arcade, but he hadn’t asked me out and I hadn't encouraged him to. Casual, no-strings-attached flirting was way more fun.
Working on my ISNA application. Nothing exciting. What about you?
Mason
At happy hour with some coworkers
Mason
One of them just started singing Celine Dion a cappella, in case you’re wondering how this is going
See, this is why you ALWAYS say no to coworker hangouts outside the office. They always end with Celine Dion, resentment, and/or vomit. Not great either way
Mason
Haha I’ll keep that in mind
Mason
On the upside, one of them told me about this great Italian restaurant in Notting Hill
Mason
Want to go with me next Friday? My treat
My stomach twisted. I’d jinxed myself because that was, for sure, a date invitation. So much for no-strings-attached flirting.
I drew my bottom lip between my teeth. Mason was single, attractive, and easy to talk to. Best of all, he had no ties to or interest in football. He was honestly the best dating option I’d had all year…so why was I hesitating?
My thumbs hovered over my phone screen. I had to type three words. That was it.
I’d love to. See? Simple.
So why couldn’t I do it?
You giving me a pep talk, buttercup?
You should come with me.
So what you’re saying is, I’m special.
That’s exactly what I’m saying.
I groaned and turned on my side. I glared at the wall separating my room from Vincent’s, wishing I could scrub my brain clean of his voice.
I might have a work thing that night. Can I confirm and get back to you?
Mason
No problem. Just lmk when you’re free, and we’ll make it work
Mason
Only if you want, of course :)
His easy understanding only made me feel worse.
Why couldn’t I get out of my own way? And why couldn’t Mason give me butterflies the way a certain other, off-limits person could?
I let out another groan. I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in my comforter, the memory of Vincent’s face floating through my head.
I really hated myself sometimes.
VINCENT
I could hear Brooklyn breathing.
It was physically impossible, given how thick the wall was between our rooms, but I swore I detected her soft inhales as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Every time I closed my eyes, the image of her in that towel seared itself into the back of my lids—long legs, tousled hair, and more bare skin than was decent.
I couldn’t erase it any more than I could erase the dozens of other memories that’d imprinted on my mind.
There was a full Brooklyn Armstrong gallery up there, but I’d rather not visit tonight.
It was too dangerous, so I kept my eyes wide open.
Unfortunately, it only helped a little bit.
I could still feel her presence through the wall, warm and soft and just the right amount of prickly. She’d surprised me with her pep talk, and I’d surprised myself when I invited her to the Zenith dinner.
I shouldn’t have done that. I had a hard enough time resisting her at home without bringing her to business meetings. But fuck, she just…comforted me. When I talked to her, I felt like everything would work out. She didn’t try to kiss my ass, and if she said I was good, I was good.
There weren’t many people in my life I could trust like that. I was going to be surrounded by sharks at that dinner. I needed someone who was on my side, even if their tongue was sharper than any blade.
I turned my head. A beam of moonlight sliced through the darkness and illuminated the wall separating us. The shadows of dozens of stuffed animals loomed in the background.
My lips curved. Brooklyn was a menace for pulling that stunt—I sneezed every time I entered my room because there were so many damn plushies—but I had to admire her creativity.
Honestly, I was surprised she hadn’t tried to seduce me in the hall. She was competitive as hell, and after an initial flurry of attempts to win our bet—like I couldn’t see right through her yoga pants scheme—her efforts had died down.
Was she distracted by something, or someone, else?
Maybe she’s busy with Mason. The unwelcome thought shoehorned its way into my head, and my smile faded.
I’d had to force myself not to react when Brooklyn told me they’d been texting. I really didn’t like that guy, but I didn’t blame him for chasing her. If she weren’t the coach’s daughter and she didn’t work at Blackcastle, I would’ve done the same thing.
As it stood, our bet was the closest thing we’d ever have to a relationship.
I resisted the urge to knock on the wall and see if she was still awake. That would be corny as hell. Plus, if she was awake, I’d rather not torture myself picturing all the things she could be doing—like texting a certain American who was tactless enough to hit on her in front of another man.
Yeah, Brooklyn and I weren’t a couple, but he hadn’t known that before flirting with her, had he?
Something green and oily poured through my blood. I clenched my jaw and yanked my gaze away from the wall. I resumed staring at the ceiling, where I tried to count pet pigs instead of thinking about my flatmate.
One Truffle.
Blonde hair.
Two Truffles.
Mischievous smile.
Three Truffles.
White towel and tanned skin.
Low voice.
Words that nearly killed me with their fierce sincerity.
You’re Vincent fucking DuBois…You don’t need validation from outside brands.
A fist squeezed my chest. I rubbed a hand over my face and stared ruefully at the clock. It wasn’t even eleven.
This was going to be a long night.