Chapter 10 #2
“I don’t know about that,” I say, giggling. “But the boxing thing—about hesitation. If you overthink things, you hesitate and get punched. I’ve been pondering that. It gave me a kick in my backside because I do that. I overthink everything. By the time I decide something, I’ve lost a year.”
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t push.
I take another drink. This time, it’s minimally less revolting, and I can get an entire mouthful down without needing to hurl. Brooks waves at a couple heading toward the dartboard while I swallow.
“You know,” I say, pressing a palm against my chest to steady the burn. “That whole boxing analogy was something my brother would say.”
“Really? Does your brother box?”
I shrug. “Kind of? He’s a mixed martial artist, which means, I think, that he does a little of everything. That’s how I understand it, anyway.” I pick at the label on my bottle. “Well, he was a fighter. He’s setting up his own gym now and serving on a commission.”
“That’s … interesting.” He clears his throat, growing eerily calm. “Who is your brother?”
“Andrew Van.”
Brooks’s expression shifts as something clicks inside his head. His eyes narrow slowly, but unmistakably. He pulls away from the table for a split second before blowing out a heavy, heated breath.
What’s that about?
“Do you know him?” I ask, unsure how to read his reaction. I don’t mention Drew to people I don’t know because it either doesn’t matter—they don’t know who he is—or they only want to talk about him. I don’t think either is the case tonight.
He swallows. “Yeah, I know him.”
“It’s a small world.”
“You could say that.” He runs a hand over his mouth and laughs softly. “Doc, I’m going to be honest with you. Drew and I aren’t friends, and I highly doubt that he’d love the fact that you’re sitting here with me right now.”
What? I wait for him to laugh or tell me he’s joking, but he doesn’t. He just watches me with the same somber, slightly concerned look that he’s worn for the past couple of minutes.
“I’m a fighter, too,” he says. “I’ve crossed paths with Drew a few times over the years.”
No way. He’s a fighter, too? My lips twist. He could totally afford to have his arm fixed.
“I’m in town because I got hurt last year,” he says. “I’m here until I’m cleared to go back to fighting.”
A darkness settles over his features, but I don’t ask about it. I’m too shocked that he knows Drew … and they don’t get along.
“Why don’t you like Drew?” I ask slowly. Most people love my brother, and I’ve never heard someone just outright say they dislike him. I can’t fathom what must’ve happened between them.
“Anything I say is going to come from my perspective, obviously, and I’m not going to sit here and talk shit about your brother—regardless of whether I think it’s true or not.”
I smile. “I appreciate that. Drew has his flaws, as we all do, but he’s a good brother. He’s very protective of me.”
“I bet he is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
He downs half his beer with an easy shrug. “It means you probably need protecting from guys like me.”
I take another drink, too, and watch him over the bottle. The alcohol warms my blood and pops the bubble of nerves that’s held tight in my stomach since I pulled up to the front of the bar. It’s easier to breathe without feeling like I’m fighting a snake trying to choke me out.
My muscles relax, and I give in to the heat coursing through me. It chips away at the shield that’s embedded in my brain—the one that refuses to let me have fun. The one who overthinks and overcomplicates everything.
“Why would I need to be protected from guys like you, Brooks?” I ask, considering removing my cardigan. It’s so hot in here.
He leans forward, his elbows on the tabletop, and peers straight into my eyes. “Because you, Dr. Van, are my weakness. And for girls like you, that’s dangerous.”
My lips fall open as I suck in a breath. I’m not sure if he means that I’m his weakness or if he’s talking in hypotheticals, but the intensity in his stare makes me think it’s the first.
“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” I say, bringing the bottle to my lips with a confidence I don’t quite embody. But I think I’m doing a decent job of faking it.
“It’s a problem because I’m not the kind of guy you take home to Daddy.”
A smirk touches my lips, and I pull the bottle away. My gaze stays locked on his. “Then it’s a good thing that’s not what I’m after, isn’t it?”
His teeth press into his bottom lip for a couple of seconds before he lets it pop free. “What are you saying?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Then I don’t either.”
The music volume doubles, and it’s hard to hear myself think.
A part of that might be the alcohol floating around my system, but I don’t have enough experience with that to know for sure.
All I know is that Brooks’s attention is focused solely on me, and an expectation hangs in the balance. One of us has to break the ice.
But I don’t know how. This is uncharted territory for me—this is the most flirting I’ve done in my entire life.
It’s just easy with Brooks because if I say something silly, he just laughs it off and moves on.
There’s no pressure … in the conversation, anyway.
There’s definitely pressure between my thighs.
I drink what’s left of my beer, willing the power of the alcohol to do its thing.
If you hesitate, you’ll get hit.
The time for hesitation is over.
“That’s not true,” I say, wiping my palms down my jeans. “I know what I want.”
His eyes widen. “Oh, really?”
“I just don’t know how to say it.”
“Well, then, you have a problem, Doc.”
“Unfortunately, I know that.”
“Fortunately for you, do you know who doesn’t have a problem?” He lifts a brow, smirking. “Me. I know exactly what you want and exactly how to say it.”
I hear every pulse of my blood through my veins and feel every drop of sweat trickle across my skin.
Brooks’s cologne is amplified over the cacophony of scents in the bar, and I’m attuned to his every breath, blink, and blush.
I’m clinging to the side of a cliff—one that I’ve fought tooth and nail to find—and suddenly the drop seems extremely far down.
“Say it then,” I urge.
“You don’t want to be a good girl anymore,” he says, melting me in my seat with the heat in his eyes. “You want to be bad.” He leans forward. “You want to know what it feels like to tick off every item on that delicious fantasy list of yours, but you’re scared.”
Bingo.
A rush of adrenaline hits my system like a rock, sending a surge of energy rocketing through my body.
I have a decision to make, and there’s no way around it.
I can either cling to the familiar and change the subject—climb back on top of the cliff—or I can be brave and do what I really want: jump off headfirst.
“Want to help me with that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
His pupils dilate, and he leans even closer to me. “Help you with what?”
“My list. I have a week before I have to go back to Boston for my dad’s birthday party, and I’ll see people there who don’t make me feel great about myself,” I say as a shadow drifts across his features.
“This might sound … silly? I don’t know.
But I want to walk in there feeling amazing, and I want those reasons to have nothing to do with any of them. ”
He sits back, unable to hide the shock on his face.
The longer the silence stretches between us, the more antsy I get.
I want to backtrack and tell him I don’t mean it—to forget all of it, but I don’t.
Because what I said is the truth, and if I’m going to honor my promise to myself and my sister and live this life, I’m going to have to stick this out … no matter how embarrassing it gets.
“I think I need another beer,” I mumble, starting to get up. Before I can slide off the seat, Brooks’s hand covers mine. I look up at him to see playfulness dancing in his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You want my help checking off boxes. That’s it. There are no ulterior motives, no expectations … nothing?”
I snort. “Do you think I want to marry you?” I roll my eyes, finally emboldened by the alcohol. “I want orgasms, not a ring. It’s easier to buy myself jewelry than to make myself come.”
“Holy fuck.”
I giggle. Maybe I’m not too bad at this.
“If I help you, will you do me a favor?” he asks. “And you’re free to say no.”
“Yes. I’ll do it.”
He laughs. “I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”
“The answer is still yes.” You’re offering me the key to finding myself, Brooks. You can have whatever you want. “Deal?”
“My license to fight is in the process of reinstatement in Nevada,” he says, void of humor.
“And due to a few things out of my control, it may or may not be approved. And I need it approved.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.
“And I think in a sick twist of fate that your brother is the new appointee on the council who gets to decide whether I can fight again or not.”
There are no chuckles or smiles, no grins or innuendos. He watches me with the seriousness of a judge.
“So you want me to put in a good word for you?” I ask. “Is that what you’re asking me to do?”
“If you’re comfortable doing that. If not, it’s okay. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t feel right doing.”
“Of course, it’s fine. Even if Drew doesn’t like you, he loves me. I’m happy to give him the best piece of advice he’ll ever get from his little sister, which is please say yes to Brooks Dempsey’s fight license so I can finally have sex.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He sits back in one swift move and runs a hand down his face. “How long has it been?”
“Since I had sex? I don’t know. Three hundred and fifty-five and a quarter days, I think.”
The air around us dances with an electrical current that’s unmistakable. If anyone lights a match in our vicinity, the whole place will blow up. A woman stops at our table and says hello to Brooks, but he doesn’t even look her way.
He covers his mouth, searching my face as if he’s looking for the answer to a question I can’t hear. I don’t know what to say, and I’ve probably said too much. Instead, I just sit and fight the beer in my stomach, trying not to rip off my clothes and lie on the table in front of him.
“If you don’t want to do this, I can find someone else,” I say. “There is a room full of men behind me. I’m sure one of them could be persuaded to take me home—especially since I’m willing to barter for it.”
His lips press into a tight, thin line. “I wouldn’t suggest that.”
I kind of want to try now just to see what happens because, my gosh, that’s sexy.
“If we do this, we do it my way,” he says, studying me.
“What does that mean?”
“That means that for the next week, you’re mine.” He licks his lips slowly as I try not to gasp. “We’ll have fun. We’ll fuck.” There’s no denying my sudden intake of oxygen, which makes him smirk. “But we’ll do it in a way that makes it easy to walk away when the time comes.”
“Perfect. Does the clock start now? Because I’m a stickler when it comes to time management.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I’m going to have Jasper and his girlfriend drive you home since you’ve been drinking. Jasper can drive your Jeep so you have it, and then they can ride back together. I’ll come out and talk to you tomorrow. Okay?”
“What?” My hand rubs my right thigh, fingering the scar just beneath the denim. “I thought …” So, no one-night stand?
He stands, coming to the side of the table. He leans down, his lips hovering over mine. They don’t quite touch, but they’re close enough to taste the beer on his breath. The mixture of his hot breath with the piney alcohol makes me moan.
“My way,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine.
I exhale, depleting my lungs of oxygen as he pulls away and wades through the crowd to find Jasper.