Chapter 11
Celia
The whole drive back to Dallas I can’t wipe the smile off of my face. Maria will get to go to LSU. She will get to live her dream. She paved the way for herself. And Brian… I turn to look at the man driving my car next to me. He’s staring ahead at the road, quietly tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel to the beat of “Best of You” by the Foo Fighters.
I study him, noting the dark stubble along his jaw and the way his black hair falls into his eyes. Why didn’t I ever notice him like this before? He’s quiet, sure, but his actions are loud, and he’s handsome in an unassuming way–the kind of handsome hidden behind long hair and quiet laughs. But the longer I think about it, I realize that I have thought of him this way for a while now–I just shied away from it. I didn’t think there was a real chance of us breaking down the friendship wall we spent years building. I didn’t let my unshakeable confidence take the lead with Brian, because I cared too much about messing things up between us.
But now? Thoughts of the way we touched one another last night flicker across my mind. My cheeks warm, and I slide my hand over his thigh. He glances at me, eyes crinkling in joy, and then looks back at the road. His hand comes down over mine, squeezes, and stays there.
When we pull up to our apartment in Dallas four hours later, it’s almost like the past weekend was a dream. Worry suddenly descends on me. Will being back in our normal space shift things back to the way they were? Brian tenses, and I know he must be thinking it too.
But we have control of this situation. We get to decide what we are to each other.
I clasp his hand and squeeze. “Come on, let’s get inside and turn off all our phones.”
He relaxes, and his quiet smile explodes into a grin. “No arguments from me.”
Once we’re inside the apartment, Brian drops his bag in his bedroom and then makes his way into the kitchen to start dinner. He falls into the familiar rhythm, bending to grab a pot and reaching for where we store the pasta. But now, instead of staring at my phone or venting about my day, I watch quietly, studying the way his muscles bend and flex as he stirs the sauce and lifts a pot full of water from the sink to the stove.
“Okay, this is weird,” Brian says, breaking the silence. My eyes snap to his. He continues, “You are usually talking my ear off. And now, what, you’re just going to sit there quietly like someone destroyed your favorite shoes?”
He says it half-jokingly, but I hear the confusion in his voice. I wince. “It’s just…” he continues, pausing to think through what he wants to say. “I like it when you talk to me while I cook.”
“Ramble, you mean,” I say, trying to joke.
“No, talk. Believe it or not, I like hearing about your day, learning who made you angry, and, I don’t know, what obscenely colored thing you think we should add to our apartment walls. I just want you to be you,” he says and shrugs.
I consider, then stand up and walk to my bedroom.
“Wait, Cee. I didn’t mean…” Brian says.
But before he can finish, I’m back out of my room, a sly grin on my face. “I’m so glad to hear that,” I tell him. “Because I have a new surprise for our living room.”
Brian relaxes, unable to contain his grin. “Oh?”
“Yeah, I thought we could use a little something to spice it up,” I say coyly.
“I’m sure whatever it is, it’s hideous,” he deadpans.
From behind my back, I pull out the surprise and hold it before me like a prized trophy. Brian stares at it, blinks, and then his mouth cracks into a grin.
“You are not hanging that up on our wall,” he says, but he can’t maintain his seriousness.
“I think it will go perfectly over the fireplace,” I insist with faux seriousness. “Plus, it was a gift from Katie. We can’t let her down by hiding this beauty in a closet.”
Brian sets down his wooden spoon and walks around the island to where I stand. He reaches for the framed photo in my hands, blown up to an 8x10.
“This is horrifying,” he insists.
I look down. “This is so us.”
He traces his finger over the photo where my leg hooks over his hip. Apparently, one of the race organizers snapped a photo of our piggyback run across the Louisiana Tech football field. When Amelia saw it among the event photos, she immediately sent it to Katie. And Katie wasted no time in printing it and framing it for me. She handed it to me as we left the restaurant this morning and I’ve been waiting for the right time to show it to Brian.
In the photo, Brian has a determined, joyful look on his face as he sprints forward. And me? I’m hanging on tight, my head pressed against his, and I have never looked more crazed or more happy in my life.
Brian wraps an arm around me and presses a kiss to my temple. “I guess I’ll allow it. We both know you’re going to get your way anyway.”
I turn in his arms and press my lips to his. “Good, because I have a pretty good idea about what I want to do now.”
“Oh?”
“First, we’re going to eat that delicious spaghetti you cooked, and then–” I reach around and squeeze his butt. “And then, we’ll have a race.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “Pick your competition of choice. Will it be Mario Kart? Super Smash Brothers?”
“I was thinking more like, who can pleasure the other the most.”
Brian coughs a laugh. “That’s not fair; you’ll win that one hands down. I don’t stand a chance.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say, grabbing his hand and moving it down my body. “I’m inclined to help you win.”
He laughs roughly into my neck and kisses down the side of it. “I think I am up for that competition,” he whispers, desire rasping his voice and body pressing into mine.
I pull him in closer and kiss him deeply. And, for the first time in a long time, I’m happy to let someone else take the lead.