Brooke moves back into the kitchen and waves at me. I watch her as she reaches for a tall cocktail on the counter, one resembling Joey’s. It’s a pale green color with a cherry floating at the bottom.
She spins around and closes a cabinet. I study her, resting my chin on my hand. Her long hair falls down her back, curling against her black tank top. Loose trackies hang low on her hips with the words Team Pink covering her arse.
She brings the drink to her mouth and takes a sip. Our eyes meet. I smile, and she cutely waves at me again.
A door slides open behind me and draws my attention.
Billy looks up, places his hand on Joey’s shoulder, and muscles him outside. He looks to be struggling with it.
“We’re . . . go, will you? Jesus! We’re going to go sit on the balcony. Give you two a little privacy for a while.” He jerks his chin and then steps out onto the terrace, pulling the door closed and drowning out Joey’s flippant protest.
“Goddamn it, Billy,” I faintly hear through the glass.
Brooke’s quiet giggle turns my head as she sits beside me, her bare feet swinging in the air. “This is my fourth apple martini.” She takes a small sip, licking her lips. “It’s apple.”
Laughing, I twist off the cap on my beer and take a swig. “How’s your leg?”
“Mm. Good! Look.” She sets her drink down and pulls up her pants. “It’s not even red anymore. Not that you can tell ‘cause of the Band-Aid, but still. I cleaned it like you said and put some Neosporin on it. Billy said it looks fine. He’s had tick bites before.”
I wrap my hand around her calf and examine her leg, slowly running my thumb along her smooth skin.
Images of Brooke on the rock, scared and trembling corrode my mind. Her broken voice fills my ears.
“You know how sorry I am for this, right?” I quietly ask, looking up into those big, curious eyes. I tug down her pants to her ankle and release her leg. “I’m so fucking sorry, Brooke. I should’ve never taken you there. I shouldn’t have made you do that.”
She gives me a lopsided smile. “I liked the swanky tent. Remember what we did in there?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t make me do any of that.”
Straightening with a quick breath, I look down as her hand finds mine under the lip of the bar. She squeezes my thumb.
I close my eyes.
Fuck, she’s so different with me right now. When has she ever reached for my hand, or displayed any sort of honest affection for me in front of people she knows? Is it the alcohol?
Christ, just enjoy it, will ya? Stop analyzing everything.
“I thought it was over today,” I softly admit, brushing my fingers against hers and staring down into my lap. “I was shocked when you called. I thought I was dreaming.”
“Maybe you were.”
Our eyes lock, and she breathes a laugh, taking another sip of her drink and then tipping her head down. Her eyes flutter. “Dreaming about me is kind of your thing, isn’t it?”
“You are kind of my thing.”
“And yoga.”
“Yeah.” I reach up and grab a piece of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. My phone beeps with a text alert, and I pull it free from my pocket and place it on the counter.
Tessa: Well?
I quickly type my response.
Me: Crisis averted.
“Who is that?” Brooke asks, leaning close to see my screen as I set the phone back down. She studies it for a moment. “Tessa?” Our eyes lock. Hers narrow. “Mm.”
I turn my head, smiling as she rights herself on her stool and shrugs indifferently.
“She’s a mate from Alabama. I’ve told her about you.”
Brooke lifts her glass to her mouth. “Oh, really? And have you seen her vagina? Because I’ve never seen any of my mates’ vaginas. Just saying. Or their penises, before you ask. No penises or vaginas between mates.”
I rub at my neck, watching her, uncontrollably smiling at this development.
Now this is quite interesting.