Chapter 27
twenty-seven
PRESENT DAY
brANDON
The motel room smells like cheap air freshener and murder. Carpet crunches beneath my boots. Yeah, carpet shouldn’t crunch.
“Gross.” I breathe the word over Kate’s shoulder as she stands on the threshold.
She agrees with a shudder. “I don’t even wanna check the bathroom. I’d rather pee outside again.”
I laugh and stride past her, ruffling her hair with one hand. She tries to swat me away but stays glued by the front door while I flip on the bathroom light.
“Ahhh!” I yell, just to get a rise out of her.
Kate screams in response, clinging to the grimy door frame.
My deep laugh echoes in the small bathroom before I stride back.
“Kidding,” I say. “It’s fine. Old, but fine.”
“Funny, Brandon. Real funny.” She’s annoyed, but I can tell she’s trying not to laugh.
I grin. This is the most we’ve felt like friends in a long while. Her dark eyes scan the room, lingering for a second on what I figure is hardly more than a full-size bed.
Kate maintains her mask of indifference, but her left knee bounces.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous too. The fiercely beautiful woman standing in the doorway is reason enough to have sweat slicking my palms.
But something shifted between us today, and I can’t quite put a finger on when. Her expression toward me is softer than it has been in years, and there’ve been a couple instances where I get a glimpse of the old Kate.
The real Kate.
Did something shift during the car ride? It couldn’t have been after her little incident of peeing herself in the woods. I rub my jaw, remembering her hilarious look of panic as she high-tailed it through the snow.
Was it in Tom’s cabin? I grimace, wanting to wring that perv’s neck for how he kept objectifying Kate. Yeah, she’s hot, but she’s also so much more than that. Kate’s funny when she wants to be, loyal to a fault, and passionate about everything.
She shifts beside the door, still wearing her spare gym shorts.
I groan inwardly, and I wonder if I’m no better than creepy Tom. Surviving hours without gawking at Kate’s legs has been distressing to say the least. Not to mention the striped crew socks pulled over her calves. It’s like this weird, school girl-meets-sports-team fantasy, and I’m here for it.
Only, I shouldn’t be.
This motel room isn’t big enough for both of us, much less the hefty baggage that comes with us.
Plus, as far as I know, she still has a boyfriend.
My mind growls Tanner’s name, but I slide on my signature grin and act entirely nonplussed.
I inspect the bed before flopping backward onto it, propping up on my elbows. I can practically hear the blood rushing to Kate’s cheeks. She turns around, fumbling for the window latch before cracking it open. A stream of winter air ruffles the scruffy curtains.
I try not to laugh.
Kate catches my snort and turns back. She crosses her arms across her sweatshirt.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I say, tapping one of my black boots against the other as they dangle off the bed. “You just seemed like you got hot all of a sudden.”
Blushing viciously, Kate snaps, “I’m fine.” She spins on her heel, grabs her gym bag, and she and her tiny shorts disappear into the bathroom.
I fall the rest of the way onto the bed, cursing myself for whatever that was. Flirting in close quarters with a woman I’ve tried to forget about for six years is a recipe for disaster. But will I ever get that through my thick skull?
Unlikely.
KATE
I’m hot. He’s—I mean, it’s too hot in here.
I splash a cold handful of water onto my face and bravely reach for a face towel. It’s musty, but not mildewy, so I’ll take it.
I try to scrub the makeup from my face without smearing my mascara into raccoon puddles, then wash my hands. I finish brushing my teeth with my spare toothbrush and meet my dark eyes in the mirror.
“You’ve got this,” I say firmly. “This is nothing. It’s one night. I mean, we can be friends, right?” I snort, but I refuse to admit just how shaken up I am over seeing Brandon on a bed again. “We’re coworkers. Nothing more.”
A rap on the door, then a muffled, “Are you talking to yourself?”
I stupidly scramble for my phone and press it to my ear. “I’m talking to Liza,” I call. And to really sell the charade, I crane my neck toward the grainy wood of the locked door and say, “Uh… bye Liza.”
My phone vibrates to life with a text against my cheek, and I jump about a foot off the ground. The phone flies from my shaking hands and clatters onto the gross floor.
Another knock. “Are you okay?”
“Just peachy.” My words come out like a warbled singsong, and I flatten a palm to my mouth.
It is imperative that I calm down.
UNKNOWN: Just reminding you of how incredible you are. - Hopefully Yours.
A fresh wave of irritation spikes my already dangerous blood pressure level.
I’m at a loss for what to do. What I can do. Short of changing my number—which isn’t even an option with how many correspondents I’m still waiting to hear from for Amantha’s exhibition—I have no plans. Besides, that would only prevent them from contacting me, not following me.
I’ve thought countless times about reaching out to the police, but with what evidence? Surely a slew of random numbers won’t be much to go on.
I curse the helpless stinging in my tear ducts and shove my phone in my pocket. I stalk out the bathroom door and into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Brandon has changed positions, propping up his torso with all the pillows. I roll my eyes.
“Nothing.” I hold strong beneath the weight of his scrutiny. But before long, his assessment of me begins to feel…different.
But unlike creepy Tom, I don’t instinctively shy away from Brandon’s gaze. It flushes me with reassuring warmth, and I feel…safe.
Nothing bad can happen to me with Brandon here.
“Okay, then.” Brandon’s voice still holds an edge of curiosity, but he drops it.
He slides off the bed, toeing off his black boots. His head swivels as he takes in the tiny room. The armchair in the corner is such a nefarious shade of brown, I suspect the upholstery might have been white at some point.
“How’s this gonna work?” He motions to the bed, and for the first time tonight, uncertainty crosses his features.
I shrug, forcing my left knee to stay put. “I’d say I’d sleep on the floor, but we both know I’m not that nice.”
Brandon coughs a small laugh.
“Neither am I,” he says. “And I’m too big to fit in that chair.”
My head bobs in agreement. “You are.”
“So… that leaves the bed.”
“It does,” I say, finishing our lame oral checklist of available motel furniture.
Brandon takes a moment to study me. “You sure you’re okay with this?”
“Um, sure.” The tension is so awkward that I blurt, “I mean, it’s nothing we haven’t done before.”
Brandon’s laugh fills the room before he hitches an eyebrow. “Well, if that’s the rule this weekend…”
I hurl a pillow at him, but he catches it and harmlessly tosses it back onto the bed. Brandon mindlessly cracks a few knuckles before his eyes meet mine again.
“Will Tanner be upset?”
My mouth runs dry as heat creeps up my neck. Lying about the breakup to my parents was easy. But this? It feels…wrong.
Maybe the events of today are blurring my thoughts together. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the protective stance he held over me in creepy Tom’s cabin. Feel the heat of his hand on mine as I touched his forearm in the car.
My thoughts—and feelings—are a soupy mess.
“He won’t be,” I decide to hedge. Which is partly true.
But Brandon knows me too well.
“Kate.” He drags my name through two syllables. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I inspect the ends of my straight hair with a clinical eye. “He’s not in the picture anymore.”
A myriad of emotions flash across Brandon’s face so fast I can’t decipher even one.
“Oh. Well, sorry to hear that,” he says.
My eyes roll so forcefully that I fear they might get stuck in the back of my skull.
“No, you’re not,” I say.
“I’m not.” Brandon grins. “Tanner sucked.”
“Shut up.” I force my laugh to stay put.
Being single again has felt like a weight crushing my chest, but for some reason, I feel the furthest thing from hopeless right now.
Classic Brandon and his anti-gravity ways.
Brandon winks and disappears into the bathroom, and I fall onto the bed, cupping my smile.
Seventeen social media scrolls later, Brandon walks back into the room. I take one look at him, and if there is any oxygen left in the air, I might gasp.
Dim light settles into the grooves between his pectoral muscles and abs which are, in fact, a spitting image of the Blacksmith’s. The black spyglass tattoo skirts just below his collarbone, rose petals curling beside it.
“What…” I clear my throat. “What happened to your shirt?”
“I took it off.” He doesn’t look at me. “You know I can’t sleep in a shirt, Kate. This isn’t news. Plus, I thought you might need this.”
Something white flashes through the air. I catch it, recognizing it as one of the tanks he used to wear as undershirts. It must have been beneath his knit sweater this whole time. The scent of sexy cedarwood wafting through the air is reason enough to snatch it with a word of thanks.
I disappear into the bathroom to change, pulse thrumming.
Brandon knows I’m single again. And he’s on the other side of this door, shirtless.
I need a cold shower.
But one peek inside the shower tells me there’s enough leftover hair from the last guest to form a small animal. I try not to gag.
I sigh the sigh of a very single girl and settle on pulling my hair into a messy bun. I eye my striped crew socks I have pulled up over my calves. I’d be cooler without them on, but there’s no way on this green earth I’m taking them off. That carpet should be a federal offense.
I remove my crewneck and slip into Brandon’s tank, feeling the heat dissipate from my body. It’s long, almost stretching to the hem of my spandex shorts. The thin cotton is soft and smells like him. I let myself get lost in the sensation of it for a moment.