16. Lizzy
Brodie: No! It’s never been up for debate.
I chewon my bottom lip, my thumb scrolling up and down, re-reading the messages. They’re not exactly what I’d call flirty. Nor would I call them sexy.
Brodie’s exchanges from last night read like a confused puppy dog who hasn’t been taught how to banter.
Poor thing.
How is he surviving in this world?
Seriously.
“Oh the things I would do to you, Brodie Stockhausen,” I murmur to myself, staring at my hair in the mirror.
“Oh the things I would do to you if I only had the chance…”
“Who are you talking to?” Jill has her head sticking in the bathroom, an apple in one hand, her bookbag in the other.
“Myself.” I set the brush down, then wrap my long hair through an elastic rubber band, round and round, until I have a smooth, slick ponytail.
Done.
“It sounded like you said ‘Oh the things I would do to you.’” Her brows are raised. “Who were you talking about?”
“The neighbor.”
“Which one?”
“Brodie. The guy I spent the night with. The guy is…unflappable. Like, I cannot get him to flirt and he never looked at my boobs once, and I didn’t catch him staring. It’s infuriating.”
That makes Jill laugh. “That would be annoying.”
“It’s not that he’s so irresistible and amazing that I want to date him, but he’s…” I shrug, following her out of the room so I can grab the school bag with my laptop in it. “Different.”
“I get it. I don’t remember seeing him when I was with Charlie, but I remember him saying he had a roommate that didn’t drink much or go out a lot. Must have been him.”
“Sounds like him.”
Jill takes a bite of her apple. “What does he look like?”
“He’s tall, he’s dark. He’s…” Motion catches my eye and I turn my head.
Speak of the devil, I can see him from a distance, walking from the direction of campus, down the sidewalk with a backpack strapped to his shoulders.
“There.” I lean forward so I can look at him through the window with no doubt in my mind that it’s him.
Jill glances out the front window. “Let’s go!” she shouts. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Let’s get out there so you can say hi.”
I squeal excitedly, grabbing my bag, a banana, and the paperback romance novel I’ve been trying to get through before rushing out the door after, neither of us bothering to lock up the house.
“We’re probably going to get robbed while we’re at class because we left the house unlocked,” I grumble to her once we’re on the walkway, Brodie still a slight figure down the block.
“He is a big dude,” Jill says beside me, still chomping on her apple.
I nod, holding the paperback and banana in my hands, book bag clinging to the crook in my elbow. We left the house so abruptly I didn’t have time to get my shit together or get organized.
Am I even wearing matching shoes?
“Why hasn’t he looked up yet?” she mutters. “He hasn’t seen you.”
No, he hasn’t seen me.
He’s walking with his head down, but he’s not on his phone. The guy is actually holding a paperback, the spine folded as he walks and reads.
“He’s reading,” Jill breathes. “Remarkable.”
That makes me laugh and I nudge her. “What’s so remarkable about it?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you think there’s something sexy about a guy who’s reading in the wild? Look at his hands gripping the book.”
I look at his hands as they grip the book, his silhouette getting closer and closer and closer, and it’s then that he notices he’s not alone, probably Jill’s laugh interrupting his thoughts.
He’s twenty feet away.
Fifteen.
Twelve.
Brodie only glances away for one split second, and it’s that amount of time that my roommate smacks the books, banana, and my bag out of my hands, sending them sprawling to the ground.
Worse?
She doesn’t stop when he halts on the sidewalk, immediately bending to pick up my things, but she sure as hell turns around, hip thrusting the air, pelvis pumping, and does the running man before taking off toward campus.
That.
Little.
Genius.
She’s a freaking genius is what she is!
Remind me to kiss her on the face later.
“I’m so clumsy,” I stutter, bending at the knees, reaching for the few things he hasn’t gathered up yet, which is just my sunglasses.
I swear my hands are shaking.
“Are you okay?” Brodie has an armful of my things and he stands, stacking everything neatly, book, banana. Bag.
“For sure. I’m totally fine. I just…tripped.”
Seriously.
Jill is brilliant.
Brodie and I are still squatting in the center of the sidewalk, his hands and my hands on my paperback and banana. He hasn’t handed it over to me yet, and I haven’t grabbed it, our faces a few inches from each other.
I study his face, having never been this close.
Scar above his eyebrow.
Scar on the bridge of his nose.
Hazel eyes that are more green but also muddy.
Dark lashes.
Bushy brows, he could probably use tweezers to pluck some of those errant hairs.
His lips are full, a fresh gash has only begun healing. I wonder when he got it because it wasn’t there the other night.
He’s shaved.
Slight cleft in his chin.
Birthmark at the corner of his right eye.
He has an interesting face?—
“So yeah,” he says before he stands, and I follow suit, letting him tower over me briefly, enjoying the differences in our stature.
Broody Brodie.
Always frowning at something.
My eyes trail downward to the front of his gray sweatpants because they cannot help themselves and besides, it’s LAW that when a guy wears pants such as this, one must look to see if they can see…
Stuff.
And I can.
The outline of the head is visible. Not in an obscene, John Hamm kind of visible but a respectable dick stamp, nestled inside his soft, gray fabric.
The threadbare navy tee shirt he’s wearing pulls across his chest, straining from his well-defined muscles beneath. It looks as soft as his pants, and I want to reach out and give it a feel to see if it actually is.
My mouth waters ever so slightly.
Brodie hands me my belongings, and I thank him, cradling my book in my arms and shrugging on my bookbag.
“Thanks,” I say again, gaze straying to the book in his hand. “What book are you reading?”
I hadn’t seen any books in his bedroom, but perhaps he keeps them out of sight, the same way I keep mine in a storage bin under my bed.
Brodie flips it over so I can read the cover. “The Mindset of a Champion—Mental Toughness in Sports.”
“It’s non-fiction,” he explains, though he doesn’t have to. “What’s yours?”
I lift the banana off my book so he can look at the cover. “It’s a sports romance.”
He nods, and I’m not quite sure he knows what a sports romance is, but he doesn’t ask, and I don’t clarify.
“Is it good?”
“So far.” I shrug. “You on your way back from class?”
Again, he nods. “Yeah. But I have another one in an hour. I forgot some of my notes, so I had to come home quick.”
Normally, this would be the perfect opportunity for me to say ‘you should run inside and grab your notes and then walk me to class.’ Except something holds me back. Mostly because even though Brodie and I are friends, I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing myself on him.
“Well, I guess I should get going then,” I finally say, waffling rather than moving my feet, actually kicking at a rock on the pavement the same way I would do if I was living out my own, personal romantic comedy.
Brodie nods. “Kay.”
I walk a few feet, giving him a tiny little wave when I notice him watching me.
“Bye.”
He lifts his arm and waves back.
When I turn toward campus, the smile on my face spreads and I secret it away, hugging my books to my chest to keep myself from breaking into a run.