CHAPTER FOUR Brandon
CHAPTER FOUR
Brandon
“SWEATER WEATHER” — THE NEIGHBOURHOOD
Six Years Ago
The house is too quiet.
Johanna has to still be sleeping. There’s no way the house is this quiet if she’s awake. She would make a grand entrance, even just to enter the room for breakfast.
I’m always up before anyone else. Usually, I’m the one to make breakfast for the rest of the house. My routine doesn’t need to change just because there’s someone else here—because I hadn’t slept more than two hours last night, unable to stop thinking about her.
I pull ingredients for French toast from the fridge and line them up like it’s something I do every day.
Usually, I’d make something more low-maintenance, but I need something with order.
Something with a process. Something to distract myself from thinking about the next interaction I’ll have with her.
I hate that I still can’t stop thinking about last night. The way she looked, staring out the window like she wanted to escape but couldn’t quite jump, while she pretended she didn’t know I was watching her. The way she’d looked at me like maybe I’m safe—until she’d realized I’m not.
I’m getting too fucking close to crossing a line with her. I haven’t yet—not physically. But in my head? I’ve gone places I have no business going.
In my head, the words off-limits aren’t anywhere in my vocabulary. All I can see is her.
She’s sharp. Guarded. Beautiful.
I want—maybe need—to find out what’s underneath all those layers she’s built up.
I’m already thinking way too much about what it would be like to be the one who gets her to open up.
I’ve just started dipping the slices of bread into my egg mixture when I hear one of the bedroom doors open and close, followed by the unmistakable sound of Tony’s voice echoing down the hall.
“Smells like looooove in here,” he sings at the top of his lungs as he makes his way into the kitchen. “Please tell me you’re making your famous French toast and it’s not just cinnamon-scented disappointment.”
I smirk. “It's French toast.”
He saunters up to the breakfast bar with a Red Bull already in hand, wearing nothing but his plaid pajama pants and a stupid grin. I’m about to tell him to go put some clothes on when another door opens and closes from the hallway.
Eric appears, fully dressed—for him, at least. He wears his signature black hoodie and basketball shorts with his favorite flip flops with a beer bottle opener on the bottom of them. Classic him.
He, too, approaches the bar and leans against it, scanning the situation in front of him.
“Why do you look like you didn’t sleep last night?” Eric asks, his eyes narrowing.
I keep my focus on flipping the slices of bread on the skillet. I’ve been hoping I don’t look as exhausted as I feel, but I know now that was wishful thinking.
Tony cracks open his Red Bull dramatically. “There’s a snarky, mysterious girl with black hair and a death wish sleeping in our house. I wouldn’t have slept much either knowing I’m responsible for that.”
I shoot him a look. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting,” Tony says, grinning like the absolute menace he knows he is. “Have you seen her? She’s fucking hot. You’d have to be blind not to have noticed.”
Eric raises an eyebrow. “You’re not really thinking about going there, are you, B?”
“Of course not,” I say, and I know it sounds like a lie the minute it falls from my lips.
Eric’s eyebrow doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything—just studies me like he’s calculating whether or not he thinks I’m telling the truth. Like he’s replaying every interaction he’s ever witnessed between me and a girl, seeing if my reaction to Johanna measures up.
Spoiler alert: it surpasses every other first encounter I’ve ever had.
I’ve never felt a rush like this about anyone before, and Eric’s clocked it within less than two minutes of seeing me.
Fuck.
Tony, of course, can’t hold back. He sees right through me, too—and has no filter.
“Damn, dude,” he chuckles, shoveling a piece of bread into his mouth like his life depends on it. “You made the fucking French toast. That’s, like, your mating call. Just admit you want her—it’s okay.”
“Do you really think that would be helpful?” I snap. “I can’t go there, Tony. Grayson would hang me by my toes and beat the shit out of me, and we all know it.”
I don’t mean to sound so sharp, but I’m already tired of him acting like there’s even a remote possibility of me and Johanna becoming something more than friends.
Hell, I wouldn’t even consider us friends right now.
It’s more like I’m a little obsessed with her and she… barely tolerates my existence.
Tony puts his hands up in surrender, unaffected, before going back to mauling his plate of French toast.
“Besides,” I continue as I fill up a plate for Eric. “I don’t even know her. Is she interesting? Sure. Hot? Yeah, fucking duh. But at the end of the day, I have no idea who she is.”
”But you want to know her,” Eric says lowly, his eyes trying to catch mine as he slides the plate closer to him.
Bullseye.
I run my hands down my face. “You know it doesn’t matter what I want.”
When I open my eyes again, Tony’s got that fucking smirk on his face again. “Jesus, B. I’ve never seen you this twisted up over a girl who hasn’t even threatened your life yet.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Yet?”
“Give her time,” Eric mumbles, halfway through his plate now. “I’ve known Jo my whole life. Trust me, it’ll happen.”
“She’s intense,” Tony says, and I can hear the fascination in his voice. “Like… black’s her favorite color, slow-burn death-stare, don’t touch me unless I say so intense. Bruh, if you don’t make a move, I call dibs.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
It scares me how much my skin prickles and my chest heats up at the thought of fucking Tony touching her.
Eric actually snorts. “Tony, she’d eat you alive.”
“What a way to go,” he sighs in admiration.
Eric tilts his head as the sound of a door creaking open and shut sounds from the hallway. “Try to keep it cool, Tony. She’s coming.”
Tony flattens his palms against the counter and wiggles his goddamn eyebrows like he’s ready to step up to the challenge.
But me?
I freeze—because I have no idea what version of her I’m about to see.
Trust me, whatever it is, I’ll be looking.