This was a mistake. Her mind went to a whole different place, one that shouldn’t be visited.
“You got it all wrong. We’re just studying at the library. Surrounded by a lot of people. Nothing more,” I reassure.
She doesn’t buy my words because her lips curve into a mischievous smile.
“Right. If you say so,” she mutters.
“Ugh, stop.”
She laughs and blows me a kiss. “Go on, kiddo. Oh, but don’t forget to take condoms with you. You never know what could happen on the way. Especially on the shelves of the library…”
This has to stop now. “Mom!”
“Bye, kiddo!” She winks at me and hangs up.
I arrive at the library two minutes late, but the good thing is that Bree’s not here yet. The place is full of students, the collective murmur of their voices vibrating in my chest. There’s no sight of Bree in here. Her messy hair is nowhere to be seen, and that gives me relief.
I walk around for a minute, my eyes traveling the extension of the library to see if I can spot her. Maybe we should meet in a less crowded place because the noise is powerful and distracting. Besides, it’s riskier when we don’t have much privacy.
“You’re late.”
My heart skips a beat, startled by Bree’s voice behind me. I turn on my heels, meeting her unfazed glance. She’s wearing her usual hoodie and gray leggings that cling to her legs like a second skin. For a split second, I’m distracted by her. I clear my throat, recovering from that moment of weakness.
“Sorry. My mom called and lost track of time,” I excuse myself.
“Well, well. Who would’ve thought that you’re actually a momma’s boy?” Bree muses with a hint of laughter. “C’mon.” She cocks her head for me to follow her, and I do it without thinking about it.
My ears warm up with embarrassment by the way she says it because I know that I totally am, but I don’t need to be exposed this way. It’s normal to be close to home, even if people want to pretend otherwise.
“Shut up,” I mumble through clenched teeth.
My gaze drops to her butt for a solid minute as we walk to one of the private rooms. I realize that gray leggings are probably the equivalent of the gray sweatpants for us because fuck me if it doesn’t hug her tight ass in all the right places.
Bree giggles, dragging me out of my trance. Fucking hell, my mom inserted a parasite in my brain that shouldn’t be there. I need to get rid of it as soon as possible.
“Oh, you are a momma’s boy. I never would’ve guessed it,” she says and pushes the door of the room, keeping it open until I enter it.
The room is empty. There’s only a laptop on the table and a backpack on the floor. A wave of confusion hits me, and I’m grateful because it vanishes the other inappropriate thoughts. I thought that we were meeting up with her cousin.
“And your cousin?” I ask with a frown.
“She’s going to be here… virtually. The truth is that she only needs to see the scanned papers of your assignments, and she’ll give you the right answers. So, we won’t be that long. At least today,” Bree explains briefly and sits down in front of the laptop.
I nod, sitting on the other side of the table to keep my distance from her. Distracting myself from the memories of her ass, I take out the documents that she mentioned and hand them out to her.
Bree does her thing, scanning the papers one by one with her phone and taking her time to airdrop the document to her laptop, typing something before she puts it away.
My eyebrows furrow. “That’s it?”
She nods.
“Now, we wait for her call.”
“Okay.”
Once more, the silence takes over the place. The whole atmosphere surrounding us is tense, thick, and weird. It’s uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter that we could hold a civilized conversation yesterday; we’re not friends. We’re unfortunate strangers with a problem in common; allies at most. Our interactions are awkward when we don’t have topics to talk about.
“How’s the phone thing going?” Bree interrogates in a whisper, breaking the quietness in the room.
“It’s going. Ryder’s working on it,” I respond in the same way.
My eyes try to find another distraction in the room. The white walls are unsettlingly perfect. They stand around us like giant murals that threaten to lock us up. Who can study here without feeling like they’re part of an asylum? In a way, I think it’s appropriate because there’s some madness in here.
“Oh, okay,” she mumbles and bites her bottom lip, moving her head up and down. “Are you close to your parents?”
I’m surprised that she took the first step to initiate a conversation. I didn’t expect it from her that she would want to know something about me. Even though I’m curious about what pushed her to talk to me.
“Yeah. More than anyone,” I respond with a simple nod.
Bree’s lips draw a genuine smile on her face.
“That’s good. I’m close to my family too, but sometimes it feels like a madhouse,” she shares, letting out a soft laugh.
“I get that.”
My mom is a crazy woman herself.
“Do you see them often?” Bree’s tone is curious, and although I know she means well, her question darkens my mood. The memory of the conversation I had earlier with my mom creeps back to my brain. Part of me doesn’t want to continue having this conversation.
“Not as much as I’d like, but I guess it’s normal. A lot of us are in the same boat,” I answer vaguely. I need to change the subject or stray the conversation away from me before I end up spilling my guts to the wrong person. “What about you?”
“I do see mine often. They don’t live that far from the city, so I visit them frequently and vice versa.” My eyebrows rise with amusement at the fact that she opened up about her family so easily. “I don’t see my brother that often now, though.”
A crease cuts my forehead. “No? Does he live far?”
She wrinkles her nose.
“Not really, but he trains a lot and his practices are demanding.” My confusion must be showing because she clears her throat. “He’s an MLB player.”
“Wow, that’s…” I’m speechless, unable to find the correct words to properly react to that.
“I know. It’s huge.”
She lowers her gaze, fixating it on her hands. A smile makes her whole face light up. I can see that she’s proud of her brother. I can’t imagine what having a sibling must be like, since I don’t have any, but it must be an incredible thing considering her behavior. I appreciate the way she feels about him; being happy for someone else.
“I’m glad that your brother is living his dream,” I sincerely tell her.
Even when she still has her eyes focused on her hands, I can notice that a pink shade covers her face.
“Thanks.”
Her phone rings, interrupting us, and the cracked screen lightens up with an incoming call. The name “Lu” shines on the screen over a photo of a redhead girl.
Bree coughs, our conversation fading away.
“I told you it wouldn’t be long. We need to get to work now.”
For a minute, I completely forgot that I’m here to complete chemistry homework, and not to make a connection with Bree. During the time we spoke, I didn’t mind being friendly with her.
Chapter Eleven
After meeting with Bree for an entire week, I find myself waiting for our study sessions at the library. Always at the library. We separate a private study room and spend the next hour having small conversations. Polite and lighter conversations that leave me wondering why we haven't gotten along since the beginning. Not that we’re buddies, but I’m starting to get to know her better.
Bree is a person that likes things to go her way. She has a strong personality and is a natural leader. Even though she doesn’t realize it, she’s always the one to lead our sessions. I let her because I’ve been trying my best to erase my imprudent mistake of asking to copy from her.
Now that she’s finally starting to see through her assumptions about me, I can see us becoming friends.
We might be like day and night, but there’s a connection forming between us; a bond is getting healthier as we spend time together, and I don’t want to ruin that.
Bree: I’m not going to be able to meet you at the library today.
Disappointment flows through my veins as I read the text glowing on my screen. At the same time, a hint of worry installs in my system, mixing with the deception. She hasn’t canceled any of our sessions so far.
Me: Did something happen?
I look up from my phone to avoid getting stressed as I wait for her answer. My eyes spot Carter in front of my door, his expression serious cut with a deep frown.
“Dude, have you seen my phone?” he asks, and my entire body wants to give in to the panic; a shiver runs down my spine, the chill hitting my core.
I do my best to remain unbothered because Ryder has a plan, and it’s going to happen tomorrow. However, that doesn’t stop me from being terrified that Carter will find out the truth before we get the chance to pull this off. Yet, I’m surprised that it has taken him this long to figure out that his phone is missing. It’s been a week. He hasn’t noticed that I stole his phone a week ago.
Is he really that detached?
With a shrug, I shake my head. My palms are sweating with his mere presence, but I refuse to show even the smallest hint of suspicion. I haven’t gotten this far just to die on the shore.
“How am I supposed to know where your phone is?” I inquire, arching a brow at him, waiting to see if he knows that something’s up.
Thankfully, he limits himself to roll his eyes; his jaw clenching visibly.
“Really helpful, Stan,” he grunts.
I snort as a wave of confidence and relief hits me. He’s clueless, which means I can relax. At least for now.
“I’m not your mother to keep track of your things,” I remind him with annoyance.
John shows me his middle finger and goes away, allowing me to breathe finally. My phone vibrates in my hand, dragging my mind away from anxious thoughts. I quickly open the new message from Bree.
Bree: Not really. I have to take some photos for a class and today is the only day that I’m going to be available to do it.
My fingers move over the keyboard, and I hesitate for a second. I shouldn’t give in to the impulse that’s pulling me to type out a question. I shouldn’t pry into her business. We’re not close. The only reason why we exchanged numbers was in case something like this happened. I’m supposed to let the conversation die, to be happy that I don’t have to go to the library today.
But for some insane and unknown reason, I’m yearning for that hour that I’m sharing with her. It’s already digging its way to my routine. Seeing her daily was not something that I expected to miss. Now that I’m experiencing it, I don’t like it.
Not gonna lie, I like spending time with Bree. She’s blunt, sarcastic, and has no sense of filter, but she makes me laugh. Things are funnier, lighter… easier.
And the best thing? She’s not into me, which I dig because I hadn’t had female friends since high school.
Just let her do her thing, Stan, I try to convince myself. However, my brain and my body are not on the same page because I press send.
Me: What are you doing?
Bree: Heading to the city and improvising the whole thing, lol.
That’s something that I saw coming. Bree doesn’t seem like the type to plan out things beforehand. We met in a weird and impulsive situation.
Let it go, let it go, let it…
Bree: Wanna come?
A smirk draws on my face as I’m taken over by the fact that Bree invited me.
Me: sure. Send me the location.
I spot Bree in the middle of a crowded street in the city with her camera around her neck, hanging over her chest. I take her in for a second, noticing that there’s something different about her. For the first time, she’s not wearing her hoodie. Instead, a purple tank top pulls me in like a beacon, and I pretend to admire her professional camera for a second.
I respect this girl a lot. All women deserve respect in general; my mother raised me right. But even though I feel no attraction to her, I’m a guy. She may not have big boobs, but I take a glance to admire them before she realizes that I’m here.
Bree looks at my direction, and a bright smile appears on her face.
“Glad you could make it,” she comments when I get close to her, keeping a respectful and friendly distance.
“Happy to be here. Although it’s funny that you’ve tried so hard to get rid of me and you couldn’t pass the chance to invite me,” I mumble, maintaining my tone light and playful.
Bree giggles and rolls her eyes.
“Shut up, jerk,” she drawls, pushing me slightly.
“So, what are you doing?” I ask, curious to know how she develops her art.
I’ve never witnessed a photographer in the field. Of course, I’ve met photographers at different events, and I’ve had hundreds of photos taken since I started playing lacrosse for Moss. Although I haven’t been a part of the production of what they choose to immortalize on the outside, without a model or a group of people.
“I have to take photos that reflect the kind of photography that I want to make,” Bree responds.
I arch a brow at her vague answer.
“And that is?”
She spreads her arms at her sides as if it was apparent. “Urban.”
“You do realize that I know next to nothing about photography, right?” I point out.
Bree snickers.
“I thought you were an English major,” she hums.
“English Lit,” I emphasize. “Ask me to recite Edgar Allan Poe’s stories, and I can do that for you. What exactly does urban photography include? Streets, buildings, random people in cities?”
Bree shrugs.
“All of the above. Besides, today rained, and I want to try something new.” She gestures with her head for me to follow her, and I comply.
I watch her zigzag through the crowd of people, her small height making her seem like a dwarf. It’s rush hour. People are leaving their jobs, walking fast, and ignoring everything that surrounds them. Except for her. She’s analyzing every single person that’s walking, the cars passing, and even the birds flying over our heads. Every once in a while, she brings her camera to her eye and captures a couple of moments.
By the time she gets tired, the sun is setting, and the city is getting darker and quieter. The crowd from the rush hour has dissolved, and so have the murmurs from people’s voices.
We’re sitting in front of a park, eating burgers that we bought from a fast-food a couple of streets ago. It’s not the best, but it satisfies the hunger, and it leaves me a chance to talk to her. I let her do her thing in peace. Now it’s my turn to ask the doubts that came to my mind as I watched her in her natural state.
“How do you know?” The question catches her by surprise because she chokes on her fries. Her eyes get fogged by a cloud of confusion. “You photographed a couple of people. How do you know which one?”
“Oh,” Bree pronounces, realization hitting her. “I don’t know. Sometimes they feel right. Their eyes, their expressions… they speak to me, I guess.” Her shoulders shoot up in a shrug, trying to take away the importance of the topic.
“Their eyes?” I interrogate, as I do my best to understand why she’s drawn to taking images of people.
Bree bites her bottom lip and moves her head up and down as she thinks. A couple of seconds pass before she sighs.
“You know how they say that eyes are the doors to the soul?” I nod. “Well, when I have my camera, I try to capture what I perceive from them, what their expressions and souls are willing to give the lens. I like to question what they were going through when they made that expression, what were they thinking. I never know, of course. They’re strangers, but I do my best to read the
ir eyes.”
I can relate to her passion in my own way. She feels what I feel for words and stories. While she tries to put together the soul of a person by a single moment, I try to figure out the mind and essence of a writer by their words.
I stare at her. Bree’s eyes light up when she talks about what she’s passionate about. If I were to read her soul at this moment, I’d see a person that’s so in love with her art that she glows.
“What do my eyes tell you about me?” I wonder in a whisper. Bree trembles, and she passes her hands over her arms, trying to soothe the chill. “Are you cold?”
Bree nods, her gaze straying from me, and my fingers go to the hem of my sweatshirt, taking it off without thinking twice.
“Here,” I tell her, giving her the piece of cloth to cover herself.
“I—I don’t think…”
“Don’t be stubborn, Bree. You’re cold, and I’m not. Take it,” I insist, folding the sweatshirt to help her put it on. Reluctantly, Bree accepts it, allowing it to warm her. “Better?”
Bree looks down to see herself. It’s ridiculous how tiny she is compared to me. My clothes are way too big for her. The sweatshirt is almost a dress for her, and she has to fold the sleeves to have better movement.
“I look awful, but yes. Thank you,” she mutters, playing with the hem of the sleeves, still avoiding my gaze.
“If you had your hoodie with you, maybe you wouldn’t look awful wearing my clothes,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.
Bree scoffs.
“Who are you, my mother?” she snaps back.
“You’re the one behaving like a child.”
Bree holds my gaze for a moment before we both laugh at ourselves and our stupid banter. I don’t think this will ever change. It’s already buried deep in our souls. It’s the way we are. But I can see this going well. She might not notice it, but I do; in front of a park, while she wears my hoodie and stuffs her face with a burger, I feel our friendship rising, uniting us before we’re able to realize what’s going on.
Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1) Page 10