6. Chapter Six #3
I sigh, sitting for a moment in my half-put-together project, surrounded by pink walls. The house is quiet, being as the movers all finished up a couple of hours ago, and with Mr. and Mrs. Taylor gone, it’s just me and Dre.
Though the silence doesn’t feel like it usually does. There’s an almost reverent feel to it. It’s comfortable, I guess.
I glance at the directions once more and get back into the building, when I feel the temperature in the room shift. The familiar warm and spicy scent fills the room, and I smirk, not looking up from my work.
“You hungry?” Andre asks, his footsteps soft on the carpet. He sits on the other side, his jeans tightening as he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. His biceps are more than noticeable from the motion, thanks to his thin white t-shirt that’s tighter around the sleeves.
My blood rushes, and I suddenly feel hot all over when I look at him.
“Starving, actually.”
Dre pulls his phone out and starts tapping away.
“Pizza sound good?”
“Sounds good to me,” I say, grabbing the wrench beside me.
“You know you didn’t have to do any of this,” he says carefully.
“Hand me that—” I point to a screw that’s rolled off. He does so without question.
“I know,” I tell him with a smirk.
“Want some help?” he asks, and I shrug.
“Sure.”
We work in silence, but it’s not uncomfortable.
If anything, it’s the easiest silence I’ve ever endured.
Between the two of us, we not only managed to get Rylee’s bed built but also made it up with fresh sheets and pillows and a myriad of stuffies.
I stand back and take a look at my work—our work—and grin.
Dre’s arm brushes mine, and I feel the heat of his skin, slightly clammy from sweat. I turn to see Andre is looking at me.
Staring at me, more like.
“What?”
Dre shakes his head, and I realize how close we actually are.
I can smell his cologne and his sweat mingling together.
All that can be heard is the sound of his breathing, and my gaze drifts up his body—over his chest that rises and falls, up to his jaw.
To his mouth, which is slightly parted. My gaze hovers there for a moment as heat floods me.
“Just really glad you’re here.”
His gaze flashes from mine to my mouth, which is suddenly dry before traveling back to meet my gaze.
“Me too,” I say, my voice slightly raspy as I lick my lips to wet them.
The doorbell rings, pulling our attention, and I jump back as he clears his throat.
“That’s probably the pizza,” Andre says as he runs a hand through his hair.
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat. “Pizza.”
Andre hurries out of the bedroom, leaving me alone and wondering what the fuck just happened.
I don’t know how to explain it, except that it felt intense.
Different. Almost like he wanted to kiss me or something, even though that doesn’t make any sense and is completely off base.
It’s probably just stress. Stress does weird things to people.
I hear the door shut downstairs, so I know he’s got the pizza. I shake off the weirdness as best I can and let it go. I’m sure it won’t happen again.
I slowly walk down the steps, taking in the sight of the house with its fresh furniture, bright and clean. Beautiful and full of possibility. There’s a comfort here that can’t be denied.
I find Andre on the couch, the box of pizza and paper plates on the large coffee table in front of it. For a minute, I just observe him as he sits there, seemingly lost in thought. I find my spot beside him and he gets up.
“Want a beer?” he asks, and immediately I relax.
I nod. “Yeah, sure.”
Andre comes back and hands me a cold bottle, and I take it from him, his fingers brushing mine lightly.
I pop the cap and take a sip, sitting back on the couch.
Andre does the same. For a moment, we just sit there, the two of us, side by side, arms brushing against one another comfortably before he grabs a paper plate and puts two pieces of pizza on it.
He says nothing as I grab my slice from his, even though we both know I could get my own.
I swear I feel like I’m home. But this place isn’t my home.
It’s Andre’s. This is his life, not mine.
But for just a little while, as we sit on his couch and wait for his parents and our kids to get back, I let myself pretend it is.
We sit there in companionable silence, eating, drinking, until the sound of footsteps and laughter come barreling through the door.
It’s nearing eight by the time we leave. Maddox rubs his eyes as Andre walks us out onto the porch, carrying a passed out Rylee in his arms. I know she’s not the only one who’s going to sleep well tonight, judging by my reciprocated yawn.
“Thanks again,” Dre says, his voice low and smooth.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say with a smirk. “What are friends for, right?”
Dre sways back and forth on the porch, the lantern lights casting a soft glow on him and his daughter.
“Right,” he says, his smile echoing the tiredness I feel as he rubs Rylee’s back slowly. I can’t help but smile.
“Good night, Andre.” I say, guiding my kid towards the car.