I don’t know Brandon well.
I think I’ve spoken to him twice in my years at Brentwood, but right now, in this moment, it almost feels like Brandon was placed on my lawn, beer in his hand, to kick some sense into me.
“I think you’re right.”
“I know I am,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Indie Mayhem is one of a kind. If she was talking to me like that, I’d be one happy motherfucker.” He smiles lazily at me and his head lulls to the side. Yeah, he’s drunk, but a drunk guardian angel is better than none.
I send him a quick mental thank you and then jog into the house.
The crowd is even worse, and I move people to the side to make my way through the open layout. I scan the heads, looking for long brown hair and when I spot her by the stairs trying to make her way through the throng of people, I quickly squeeze my way through and take her by the arm.
She spins, ready to take out whoever is touching her. “It’s me,” I say quickly, over the booming music. “Can we talk?”
“Are you going to be real?”
“Yes,” I answer, looking her square in the eyes.
“Then let’s talk.”
“Not here,” I say, taking her hand in mine. I thank the guys protecting the stairs, who aren’t letting anyone up to the bedrooms who don’t live in the house. I walk past Hutton’s room, where I already hear moaning, to my room at the far end of the hallway. I take the key from my pocket, unlock my door—because sometimes, people slip by the stair patrol—and I guide her in. I go to my desk and flip the light on, casting a light glow in the decently sized space. She shuts the door and then we both stare at each other, a few feet apart.
My body itches with an overwhelming need to cut the space between us, push her down on my bed, and explore every inch of her with my tongue. And for a second, I get a bout of courage, as if it could really happen, as if I wouldn’t think twice about taking what I want, but when she crosses her arms with impatience again, I snap back to reality.
“I’m sorry,” I start. “I’m really fucking sorry, Indie. I didn’t mean to be a dick to you, and I was. When I said it’s hard, I meant . . .” I take a deep breath and decide to just tell her the truth. “It’s hard trying to be cool around you. I, uh . . . I, hell, I think you’re a goddamn bombshell, okay?”
Her eyes soften and her lips curve into a smile.
“And yeah, I was jealous. I was jealous that Deacon was holding you and touching you, and I know I have no right to be jealous, since we’re friends, but I was, okay? I took my irritation out on you later and it was wrong.”
She’s still smiling, not saying anything. The silence is killing me.
“Can you respond? Christ.”
She chuckles. “I knew you were crushing on me this entire time.”
“Jesus,” I groan and go to my bed where I lie down. I kick my shoes off and lace my fingers behind my head. “Way to make it easy on a guy.”
“When would I ever make it easy on you?”
“Point taken.” She sits down on the bed, near my feet. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to make you mad at me. I do value our friendship.”
“Yeah, I do too,” she says, and my heart falls as I realize she just agreed with the whole friendship thing. I was hoping that maybe she’d see I was interested in being more than friends, but from the way she’s twisting her hands and avoiding eye contact, I have to assume she’s trying not to hurt my feelings by letting me down.
Sticking with friendship, okay. Got it.
“Are we cool?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, we’re cool.”
“Good.” I reach for the remote to my TV and say, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have no interest in being downstairs right now. I’m going to take my pants off and watch some TV.”
“Are you kicking me out?” she asks, a lift in her questioning eyebrow.
“You’re more than welcome to stay, but watching season three of Ozark is as fun as it’s going to get in here.”
“Ugh, you watch Ozark?”
“Uh, you don’t?”
“It’s so dark and the weird blue filtering depresses me.”
I scratch the side of my jaw and flip the TV on. “Yeah, it is quite dark, hard to see sometimes.”
She takes her shoes off and bounds toward the headboard. She cuddles into my side and rests her head on my shoulder. “Let’s watch something else.”
“Uh . . . who said you could use me as a pillow?”
“I did.” She snuggles in even closer and my body thrums with excitement from the combination of her soft scent and supple body curling into mine.
Oh, and the fact that she’s practically twisted around the side of my body.
Firm but soft breasts press into me.
A long leg tangles over mine.
A warm palm falls to my chest.
Okay, yeah, I could get used to this.
Didn’t expect the night to end with her nestled around me, but I’m not going to complain. I would do just about anything to keep her where she is. “If not Ozark, then what do you want to watch?”
“Have you watched To All the Boys I Loved Before?”
“Oh hell, no. Sorry, Nope. I’m not watching that high school love story.”
She hauls herself up and stares down at me. “How do you know it’s high school?”
“Uh . . . word on the street?” I ask in question. I’m so busted.
“Oh my God, you watched it.”
“No, I haven’t.”
She points to the screen. “Then why is it under the row that says watch again?”
“It’s my moms’ account,” I say with a smirk. Ha, thank you, moms.
“Must I remind you that we’re being real with each other?” Her finger taps my chest and I groan in exasperation.
“Fine. Hartley and I watched it one night. I don’t see what the big deal is about that Noah guy. He’s just a younger version of Mark Ruffalo.”
“And Mark Ruffalo is the Hulk. So technically, Noah Centineo is Hulk’s offspring and if I were you, I’d be kind about Hulk’s offspring.”
I stare at her, silently, and then turn back to the main screen. “There is no validity in that argument.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yup, now if you would like to watch something from a neutral party, then I will consider that.”
“What do you consider a neutral party exactly?” she asks, her hair floating over her shoulders, framing her face, adding to her beauty by tenfold.
I reach out and push her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her cheek longer than they should. She doesn’t seem to mind as she stays still, waiting for me to answer. “Not something super girly, maybe something with Adam Sandler.”
“But you watched To All the Boys I Loved Before. That’s girly.”
I smirk and say, “I only watch those types of things with Hartley. It’s a bonding thing we do. Sorry, Mayhem.”
Her smirk damn near kills me.
“Fine, pick an Adam Sandler movie but can I please borrow a pair of shorts, because the ones I’m wearing are clawing up my ass.”
“Can’t have that.” I point to my dresser. “Third drawer, take what you want.”