by Olive East
“I can’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Come on, Brooks. You’re a total catch.” I couldn’t help but exasperatedly throw my hands up.
He smiled, and if I wasn’t mistaken, blushed. “That’s a compliment, right? Thank you. And did it ever occur to you that I’ve been waiting for the right woman to come along?”
“No, it didn’t.” And it really hadn’t, because that wasn’t how I knew the world to work. In my experiences, men who looked like him and had a healthy bank account didn’t exactly wait for the right woman. Instead they seemed to somehow end up with a hot one.
“Are you married?” he asked.
“Uh, no. Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m seriousing you and I can’t believe that.”
“Well, believe it.”
“Right, I forgot how young you are.”
He was mocking me, which, along with raising his eyebrows at my comments, was something I had him doing a lot. I decided it was definitely his way of flirting and I was definitely enjoying it.
When we finally got to Brooks’s porch, I half expected to see Sadie with her nose pressed against the window across the street. Brooks went right in and let Boden off his leash while I hesitated, feeling like a vampire who needed an invitation.
“Aren’t you coming inside?” He held the door open for me and had a very puzzled look on his handsome face.
Of course I wanted to go in, but it was late. It was after dinner and we already took a walk, plus I had school in the morning and he probably had to be at the hospital. So would coming in be a good idea? No. It wouldn’t be a good idea. We’d talk more only to find out we had absolutely nothing in common or even worse—I’d find out he was more wonderful than I already thought he was.
“Yeah.” I ran inside before I could think too much more about it.
The lights were low and I was wearing mostly black despite the jacket, so I let myself disappear inside the comfort of his home. Brooks was attending to something on the opposite end of the house and hollered for me to wait in the living room.
My head and heart had a battle while I waited for Brooks to come back. I just couldn’t let the “I wouldn’t tell a woman I was trying to date” comment go, despite the fact that he also told me he was trying to be romantic. In true Ollie fashion, I focused on the negative even though I wasn’t sure it was a negative at all.
There was all the touching and teasing to consider. Brooks let his hand linger so dangerously low on my back he was verging on butt territory, and, may I add, he had to slouch considerably to do so.
Why couldn’t I just live in the moment? Why couldn’t I let the little things go? Why couldn’t I just be happy?
I was beating myself up on the couch when Brooks came back into the room.
“Why’re you sitting in the dark?” He brought the lamp to life.
“I didn’t notice,” I murmured. It was hard to bring myself back to the present.
“Ollie Oxmend, what’s wrong?” He could practically see right through me already and it wasn’t fair.
I just shook my head, knowing my voice would give me away, and offered him a weak smile. I’ve never been in a serious relationship where I couldn’t hide behind signing, and even though I could hardly consider Brooks and me in a relationship, that’s what it felt like. Or maybe it was just what I wanted.
“I was hoping you’d sleep in the bedroom tonight,” he said, then added, “The guest bedroom.”
It shouldn’t have surprised me at all that he wanted me to stay, but of course it did. His voice held an edge of hesitation and excitement all at once. Maybe I could read him too.
“I’d like that,” I told him.
“Finally,” he exhaled, confirming my suspicions.
Brooks held out his hand to me and I took it after a second of hesitation. As soon as our fingertips touched I felt it, that spark, and in that instant I knew he felt it too. There was no physical reaction, like pulling his hand away, but there was a change that I couldn’t explain but anyone could feel.
He didn’t let go once I stood. We walked hand in hand as he led me up the stairs. The bedroom, based on the glance I got inside, seemed to be across the hall from his. Did you know you could feel a pulsating need to go into someone’s bedroom? Probably. Anyone who has ever had a crush over the age of fifteen knows what that feels like.
He nudged the plain white door on the opposite side of the hall open with his fancy shoe and motioned with his free hand for me to go in—he was careful to keep my hand, though.
I squeezed his palm in excitement.
The windows overlooking the street gave me just a glimpse of Sadie’s, but I tried not to look. The bedroom was mostly empty, but it didn’t quite fit with the theme of the rest of the house. Its delicate black bed was covered with a light teal and baby pink comforter. Not to mention an abundance of pillows.
There was an overly feminine and matching vanity across from the bed with toiletries and a sleep shirt waiting for me on it.
Everything looked and smelled new, like stepping into the bedroom section of Ikea.
I strode over to the vanity, touching various plush surfaces on my way, and Brooks went with me since he still held my hand.
“Were you expecting me?” I asked.
“Yes. No”—he ran his hand through his wavy blond hair—“more like hoping you’d stop by.”
“Did you buy me clothes too?”
“No, but I can.”
“No, no! I was joking. This is more than enough.” I was going to die if he did one more nice thing for me. I wasn’t used to being treated well, let alone exceptionally well. I couldn’t handle it, so I let go of his hand, hoping it would lessen my intense feelings.
“Well, I’ll let you get ready for bed. The bathroom is the next door down, and feel free to use anything you find.”
The way he said it made me wonder if he stocked it with Clean and Clear, Herbal Essence, and whatever else he thought girls liked.
“Thank you, Brooks,” I told him, not knowing what else to say. Thank you wasn’t enough, but saying something else wouldn’t have been right either.
“Goodnight, Ollie.” His voice lowered and he took a step closer.
“Goodnight.”
We stood with only a George R. R. Martin novel of space between us and our gazes locked. I wanted to kiss him, or maybe more accurately, I wanted him to kiss me. Neither of us made a move for a few long and intimate minutes, but I loved the feeling of anticipation. Anticipation and hope is the most devastatingly wonderful combination a human can know.
Then my world was in slow motion, just like it happens in the movies, except it was my real life. Brooks’s blue eyes were locked on my own muddy brown ones while he slowly, very slowly, leaned forward. My heart raced and stopped and fluttered and swelled all at once and I’d never wanted anything more.
At the last minute something changed. I was certain he was going to kiss me, but then he didn’t. He leaned down and wrapped those long arms around me, and after a bit of my disappointment wore off, I threw my arms around him too.
Next thing I knew, my feet were no longer touching the ground, and the way my parts lined with his parts made every centimeter of my skin perk up. I never knew it was possible to feel my limbs so much until that moment.
“Sweet dreams,” he murmured in my ear. His husky tone sent a shiver through my insides as if his breath traveled across my skin. Before anything else could happen, he set me back down and left the room without another word.
I couldn’t move for an absurdly long amount of time because the hug was more powerful than any kiss I’d ever had. It was almost impossible for me to shake the thought of going to his room and crawling naked into his bed, but that wasn’t me, and I knew it wasn’t him, either.
So instead I made the short trip to the bathroom. The wood floor was too cold for my bare feet, and in keeping with his theme, the décor was nonexistent.
Once
I shut myself in the distinctly clean-smelling bathroom, I washed my face with cold water. In fact it was nearly freezing. I did that in an attempt to calm down, but that only worked for about thirteen seconds. I was in Brooks’s bathroom as his very welcome guest, and it was all too much. The only things that would’ve successfully got Brooks out of my system were either an ice bath or to get under him, and neither of those were an option at the time.
After I had my freakout moment, I rinsed the washcloth clean so he wouldn’t see all the makeup that came off with it. It wasn’t that easy a task, but it was something that had to be done. My before bed ritual, if I’m in a decent state of mind, included peeling off my false lashes.
There was always something so comforting in the feeling of the adhesive unsealing the fibers from the lashes—like peeling off dried glue, but better. As I went to remove them, I stopped. I hadn’t brought extras, thinking I was only spending a few hours with Sadie and switching to my clutch for the night, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of not wearing them. The magic only worked if they were on my eyes.
Leaving the lashes on, I brushed my teeth and pulled my hair back in an attempt to look effortlessly beautiful in case Brooks decided to crawl into bed with me. I knew he was too much of a gentleman to do such a thing, but a girl could fantasize.
Pausing only for a second at his door, I pressed my ear to it. Maybe if I heard a TV or some sounds I could justify knocking, but I didn’t hear a peep, so I continued on my way to my bedroom, feeling almost relieved.
After I shed my clothes for the t-shirt and fell onto the marshmallowy bed, I pushed my arms under the pillows in my signature move and felt something scratchy and out of place for the otherwise comfy bed. Flipping up the pillows, I found a price tag Brooks had neglected to remove.
I yanked it off and walked it over to the small plastic trashcan by the door. That’s when I noticed, lying in the otherwise empty basket, a receipt that I couldn’t help but look at. The receipt listed every item in the room—bed, comforter, vanity, and all—and was dated from just four days before.
It hit me then, and I don’t know why it didn’t before. The black was an obvious choice. Anyone who ever met me could tell from my usual black on black uniform that black was my color. But it took a keen eye to know my accent colors were usually teal and pink. It could be something as small as the studs in my ears or the hair ribbon tied around my wrist to my shoes or headband, and Brooks noticed that.
A toothbrush was one thing, but a bedroom set was another. I held the rather hefty bill to my heart and couldn’t help but smile. As I tucked it inside my purse, because I wanted to remember that feeling forever, I realized something else. Brooks wanted me to stay. He wanted to spend time with me. He went out of his way to make his home comfortable for me. Those were things I thought were only possible for other girls. The beautiful people with shiny hair and picture-perfect lives. Not me.
Brooks thought so, though. And if he could feel that way about me, then maybe, just maybe, I was destined for a beautiful life.
Chapter Ten
Sadie’s twenty-first birthday just so happened to coincide with the bachelorette party she decided to throw herself. As a bridesmaid and lifelong friend, according to the boasts of the wedding website I refused to look at yet somehow was constantly up on my screen, I was expected to be there but never once asked to help plan it.
Most girls probably would’ve found it odd or have been offended by this omission, but not me. I was taking it as a little gift from someone up above. I knew I wasn’t a good enough liar to pretend to not only think the wedding was a good idea but to be excited about it. Either Sadie realized I wasn’t one hundred percent in on the wedding or she didn’t trust me to do things to her high standard. I could see both those things being true and I couldn’t be upset with her about it.
I found myself attached to numerous group texts about the event. I’d send my obligatory I can’t wait sentiments while thanking the cellphone-gods every day for text messages giving humans the ability to easily lie. But all the hoopla was making it harder and harder to ignore that not only was this insane wedding happening, but soon.
One major downside to not frequently seeing Sadie amidst all the planning was not seeing Brooks. The one day she and I spent together was at the Ross Park Mall forty minutes away, trying on bridesmaid dresses. Because I hated almost everything I tried on, I bought the dress Sadie said to. I was feeling so deflated after the whole ordeal I wouldn’t have been up to seeing Brooks even if Sadie did invite me over afterwards.
It was odd and pitiful, because I barely knew him, but he was the most stable person in my life. The fact that he never even asked for my phone number bothered me. So much so that I let it cloud over all the other things he did for me.
Isn’t that how things are supposed to go? Shouldn’t he have gotten my number, then waited three days and called? Or at least texted. I would’ve killed for a text.
Sadie, on the other hand, had my number and called it every day leading up to the party. But she never invited me over again, and I couldn’t help but feel like there was a very specific reason for that.
If I was a braver girl I would’ve just invited myself over.
My mom and Aaron both called a lot too in those couple weeks between the last time I saw Brooks and Sadie’s birthday/bachelorette extravaganza. My mother called because she loved all the drama that went along with a wedding, and Aaron called because he didn’t. It was as if we actually had a relationship, like old times, before Sadie and weddings. It was like we could be ourselves again, and I think that was something we both wanted.
He never called when Sadie was around, obviously, and we never talked long, but we always talked. I was getting used to it and maybe even depending on it. That would’ve been a problem except I think Aaron was enjoying it just as much as I was—maybe more.
I considered just showing up at Brooks’s house like I had before, but with every passing day it seemed more and more ridiculous. I never really planned on seeing him, it just happened, and somehow showing up without the guise of visiting Sadie seemed too bold. I’d tell myself he wanted to spend time with me and that he furnished a room for me. I’d even drag out the receipt for hard physical proof, but I’d always manage to talk myself out of it. I didn’t want to be the girl who needed constant reassurance, but that’s what I was acting like.
Still, my thoughts always came back to him, and if the magic of his house was real or imagined. Thinking of him created a kind of glow that radiated from my thoughts to my body and shot through my fingertips. Someone who could see auras would’ve noticed the change in mine. I don’t know if I believed in that kind of thing, but I wanted to.
My drawing professor commented on the romantic style my art had taken of late and attributed it to my own personal renaissance. She was very pleased with me for getting out of my “gloom and doom” stage, as she so lovingly referred to it. Everyone has to have a signature style, though, and mine just so happened to be heavy on heavy material. A good artist draws inspiration from real life anyway.
The guys at Young and Beautiful, however, were not so pleased. They had gotten used to me being the go-to girl for fiery, morbid tats featuring skulls and blood droplets; that’s what a lot of people like anyway. But lately all I wanted to do was tiny little hearts and bows, or else I practiced my lettering skills with quotes by long dead poets about love. Those kind of tattoos were a dime a dozen, and not something in high demand at Young and Beautiful. I was going to love-struck myself right out of a potential job.
All of it was cause for concern. I’d practiced so hard on separating my feelings from my work, and my life in general, for that matter, that I could make it through even the worst day with robotic efficiency. I’d only perfected sorting out the bad—not the good. That was another issue in my life. Good things happening to me were, well, a problem.
I was teetering on the edge of becoming a lovesick goon and there was nothing I could do to hide i
t, and worse yet, I didn’t want to. Staying away from Brooks was only making it worse.
I had to pull my shit together, though, because the birthday/bachelorette party was finally—or maybe dreadfully—here, and I certainly couldn’t let my glowing self take any attention away from the bride. That would probably be cause for removal or even a backstabbing beauty queen mishap like Sadie putting glue in my lip gloss or tripping me on purpose.
Sadie spared no expense on the big night out. We had a party bus with neon lighting, two flat screens, a fully stocked bar, and a chauffeur to drive us around the South Side. Her cousin, Mariah the bar fly, as I liked to call her, or as she was known for the night, the maid of honor, got us into the VIP areas of most of the bars and clubs.
The only problem of the night was me, and it certainly wasn’t because of the killer mix I made for our travels. It was because everyone else was twenty-one or over. Despite my many attempts to get out of going to the bar—because you know the law—Sadie insisted beyond words that I had to be there.
Somehow, I ended up with a fake ID that my mom paid eighty dollars for. Sadie said she knew a guy, but when or how that exchange took place was still beyond me. Paying eighty dollars for one night of bar hopping is ridiculous. I knew I’d never use it again, and besides, I’d actually be twenty-one in less than a year.
Sadie was about to burst with excitement and rushed my car when I pulled up front at her house. She plastered the fake ID to the driver’s side window before I could even jam into park. Her waiting for me outside majorly derailed my plan of popping into Brooks’s before going into Sadie’s.
“Look, look what you have,” she said in her sing-songy voice after she moved aside to let me out.
“What’s that?” The girl in the picture did look eerily similar to me, but the license stated she was about three inches taller.
“It’s the best of the best of fakes because it’s actually real. It’s just not you.” She took my hand in hers as we walked up the small incline to the house.