Chapter 6
“Hey, Baby Bardot. Whatcha reading?” I plop down on the couch next to Bex and watch a look of horror cross her face as she clutches her kindle to her chest.
“N-nothing,” she stammers.
My head bobs in a nod. “I loved that one.”
I can feel her hesitate, even though I’m not looking directly at her, and then she says, “It’s fan-fiction, actually.”
I pause. “Sexy fan-fiction?”
“NO. No. Um, I have to go.” She jumps up and does just that.
My mind has been mayhem for the last twelve hours, but she walks into the coffee shop and it immediately calms.
I may or may not have texted Bex several times last night.
In a row.
In a very not chill way.
I tried to play it off.
I think I played it off?
Default mode for me tends to be flirty. It puts people at ease, which puts me at ease. But I have always loved flirting with Bex. She gets all flustered, which does wonders for my ego. Her skin is too olive toned to outright blush, but sometimes I get the hint of pink before she buries her face in her curls and it makes my chest ache.
I take a second to watch her—in the most non-creepy way possible—as she walks in, checks her phone, and then begins to scan the shop looking for me. She has that ever present furrow between her brow, like she’s always worried about something. Which I suppose is valid, considering the way seeing her again has stirred up my feelings.
She should be worried.
Because I cannot fathom a world in which I see her multiple times a week and manage to keep my hands to myself, regardless of Gabe’s very explicit warning.
It’s not that I don’t value Gabe’s friendship. He’s become the closest thing I have to a brother. I could argue that he saved my life when he brought me back here.
It’s just that his sister also happens to make me feel entirely too many things. Most of them good. Very good. Too good.
I keep watching her as she looks around, finally making eye contact and heading my way. The thing about Bex is that she’s only gotten more attractive in the years I’ve known her. We first met when she was a shy sixteen year old, reading a book in an oversized chair by her parents’ fireplace. I had come home with Gabe for their traditional Bardot Sunday dinner early in our junior year, and I can remember having such a deep desire to just go sit down next to her, pull her down into my lap, and run my fingers through her chocolate curls as she continued to read. I am four years older, though, so I immediately tried to squash any thoughts of Rebecca Bardot.
It was a futile effort.
She was gorgeous then, but she’s breathtaking now. At twenty two, she has a much more confident demeanor. Her curvy body matches the curves of her curls, and I could spend hours watching her simply move through her day. The freckles across her nose ebb and flow throughout the year, and her olive skin tone never roasts in the sun like the alabaster shade of mine does.
I realize my gaze has perhaps grown too heated when she sits across from me and gives me the cutest damn quizzical look.
“Hi.” I can see the determined set of her shoulders. She’s put on her mask, so I’ll put on mine too. For now.
“Hey, Baby Bardot. Fancy seeing you here.” I slide her coffee cup toward her.
“Is it? Didn’t seem like I had much of a choice after you assaulted me with text messages.” God, she’s so fucking sassy sometimes.
“Well, Gabe found out last night that you’re in my class so I figured we should talk about it.”
A look of resignation passes over her. “Of course Gabriel is involved in this. I mean, I did assume the texts were tequila fueled since it was Margarita Monday.”
I’m confused for a half a second before I realize that she doesn’t know that I’m sober. I’m surprised Gabe never told her but that makes me respect him that much more. And that little tidbit will make what I’m going to do infinitely harder. Because it’s taken a lot of therapy for me to realize I shouldn’t be afraid of what I want. And I want Bex Bardot.
“Right… well why don’t you tell me why you are in that class to begin with. I’d like to believe it’s because you can’t resist me, but something is telling me that that’s not the case.” I give her my most charming grin, unable to deny that constant need to alleviate the stress of those around me.
“My advisor made a mistake. And I’m kicking myself because I should have caught it earlier. I mean, I know Hawthorne wants you to have a well rounded education but taking a fine arts class never really crossed my mind. I don’t think I’ll really need it in social work. I was especially shocked to learn that it wouldn’t be something… I don’t know. Easier is not the right word. But acting? Me?! I can’t be on stage. Especially not in front of you!” It’s then that she finally realizes that she’s been ranting and slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.
I choose to cut her some slack. “You might be surprised how useful some of the techniques are that you’ll learn in class.”
“No, of course. I don’t mean that there’s anything wrong with what you do. Gabe may or may not have dragged me to some of your productions in undergrad.” This is news to me. “But I have never wanted to be the center of attention! And, oh God—Gabe probably already told Ben and Jules, and I will literally never hear the end of it.”
I chuckle because she and her brother are so similar.
The Bardot siblings have always fascinated me. Growing up as an only child with pretty shitty parents made it especially jarring the first time I met the Bardot crew. They orbit around each other so naturally, in a way they don’t seem to see but is exquisitely beautiful.
“Don’t worry, we’ll make this as painless as possible. Technically I’m just the TA for the class. Professor Callahan will be popping in from time to time to impart his wisdom. When I asked you here this morning, I wanted to make sure you were okay with being in the class with me. I can request to transfer to another section if that would make you more comfortable.” I’m praying she says no to this. “I know you avoid me at all costs,” I add when she doesn’t say anything.
It’s a self-deprecating joke with a shred of truth. Because she’s spent years avoiding me. I’ve just never outright acknowledged it like I just did.
Her mouth drops open. “I don’t—I’m not…” Well that was all the confirmation I needed. My heart sinks a bit and I find myself rubbing my chest to try to ease the pressure there.
Shaking herself, she pulls her thoughts together and sighs heavily. “Apparently we’re being honest with each other this morning,” she mutters, finally taking a sip of her coffee. It’s black which I’ve always thought was weird, and I definitely didn’t examine the fact that I knew her coffee order when I bought it for her this morning.
“I do prefer it that way, yes,” I say, answering the question she didn’t really ask.
“Fine. Maybe I have avoided you. But, no.”
“No?”
“No. You don’t need to switch sections. I’m sure I’ll survive spending the semester with you.” That’s good. I’m not sure I will.
“Okay. But you have to promise not to fall in love with me.” I wink. She scoffs.
I think I’m the one who will need to worry about falling in love.
“Alright, Anders. Don’t worry, this isn’t a ‘90’s rom-com.” She contemplates for a moment. “You have to promise you won’t make fun of me when I am a complete disaster of an actress.”
“Alright, Rebecca.” Another wide-eyed look. Good. She remembers that too.
“It’s Bex.”
“Mhmm.” I grab my coffee and stand up. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
She nods, looking up at me, big brown eyes swimming with emotion.
Not going to lie. I like this view. I enjoy it for a breath before turning around and walking out.
Despite what I told her, I would definitely like for her to fall in love with me because I’m already halfway there.