“It’s not? Then who’s operating your legs?”
“Me, but . . . it’s my bra’s fault,” I say. “It’s constricting the blood from reaching my toes, and that’s what makes it hard to walk.”
“Wow, that’s quite the scientific reasoning.”
“Well, you try walking with a bra,” I say right before I reach in front of me, snap open the front clasp of my bra, and then pull the whole thing off. I toss the bra at Breaker and say, “You try.”
He glances up at me as he holds my bra in his hand, and then his eyes travel down my neck, past my collarbone, and right to my breasts, where my nipples press hard against the white of my shirt fabric.
“That was hot, Lia.” He wets his lips and then examines my bra. “Really hot.”
His eyes fall to my breasts again, and I can feel all inhibitions fall away as I stick my chest out and say, “Trying to get a good look?”
“Yeah,” he answers with a shameless smirk.
“Well, cut it out.” I kick my foot toward him. “This is serious business.” I take a deep breath and hold my arms out to the side. “Watch me walk with beauty and grace.”
“Let’s see it.” Although, when I sneak another look at him, he’s still looking at my braless breasts.
I place one foot in front of the other and glide, not missing a step and proving that in fact I’m not drunk.
“Ha,” I say when I finish. “Told you it was the bra.”
“Puh-lease,” he says while he stands. “That was all luck. Bet you I can walk straight with this bra on.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“I know so.” He sets the bra down on the arm of the couch, pulls his shirt over his head, and tosses it to the side.
Hello, pecs.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
“Putting the bra on,” he says as he reaches for it and attempts to fit his arms through the loops. “Fuck, why is this so tight?”
“Uh, maybe because you are much larger than me.”
He has one arm strung through a strap but is turning in circles, trying to grab the other strap. After a few turns, he props one hand on his hip and turns toward me. “Can you fucking help me instead of just watching me run in circles like a dog trying to catch his tail?”
“I’m actually good just watching.”
He grumbles, takes the bra off, and then fits it on backward so the back of the bra runs across his nipples. Since I’m so much smaller than his broad shoulders, his arms turn in, being pulled by the straps of the bra.
He glances down at himself and then back up at me. “You know, I don’t really think this is a good look for me.”
I let out a roar of a laugh while I shake my head. “I’ve seen better.”
“Then let’s just get this over before I lose all sense of myself and start matching your lipstick with my nipple color.”
“What?” I chuckle. “Why would you match it with your nipple color?”
“I saw this girl talk about it on Tik Tok. How the perfect shade of lip would match your nipple. That not true?”
“Why are you watching makeup tutorials on Tik Tok?”
“I don’t search them out. They just pop up. The girl had a Boston accent. I think her name was Mikayla. Really fucking entertaining that I watched a few of her Tik Toks. No shame. She’s actually really inspirational. Lives her life the way she wants. And hey, now you know to match your lipstick to your nipples. You’re welcome.” He then holds his arms out and walks in a straight line, holding steady the whole time.
“You know this doesn’t count, right?” I ask. “You’re not wearing the bra correctly.”
“Uh, because it’s not big enough.”
I shrug. “Not my problem.”
“Then what the hell is this? What am I doing?”
“You tell me, you’re the one who whipped the bra on.”
“Ridiculous,” he says as he takes it off and then sling-shots it right at my face.
The fabric slaps me across the cheek, and I gasp in shock. “Oh my God, you could have taken my eye out.”
“Dramatic much?”
“I bet I have a red mark.” I grip my cheek and play it up.
“Death by bra, that’s a first.”
“Uh, excuse me, sir. I have no doubt in my mind that many a woman have met their creator because of a poorly manufactured brassiere, most likely designed by a man who has zero concept of the kind of damage a destructive underwire can have on an unsuspecting soul.”
“You do realize a bra is a choice, right?” His smirk tells me he’s only teasing, but that doesn’t stop me.
“Oh sure, right, a bra is a choice, so if I started walking around with my tits out, you think I won’t have complaints about erect nipples or showing too much?”
He sticks his hands in the pockets of his athletic shorts and says, “No complaints here.”
“Ugh, pervert.” I walk over to the kitchen and grab another cider for us both.
“You can’t be serious. This might make me puke.”
“Or sleepy. I prefer the sleepy.” I crack both open and hand him one. We cheers and then take a seat on the couch, our shoulders pressed together as we stare at the TV in front of us.
After a sip, I say, “You know, there’s no one else I would want to spend my time with after I called off a wedding and broke up with my fiancé other than you.” I rest my head against his shoulder.
“Same, Lia.”
We both take a drink.
“When you first saw me in the hallway of your dorm, did you ever think this is where we would end up? Neighbors, best friends, attached at the hip?”
“Uh . . . not at that moment, but after that night, I had a good inkling.”
“How so?”
“We just matched. Like when everyone left Scrabble that night, and we were alone, I felt like my missing puzzle piece was put into place.”
“I felt the same way.” We both lift our drinks to our mouth and take long pulls. “I would be lost without you, Breaker.”
“I would be lost without you, too.”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” I say, my mind turning morose. “You have so much going for you. Your business, you have a strong family bond and sisters-in-law who are so much fun. You have promise, a community surrounding you, and so much opportunity.”
“And you don’t have any of that?” he asks, his tone suggesting he’s wondering where I’m going with this.
“I have you. I’m building a circle. And I have a job that I love, but I don’t know, I just feel like you have so much more.”
“What I have, you have. You know Huxley and JP treat you like a sister. And you’ve built your business from the ground up, not many people can say that. Are these feelings stemming from not having your parents around?”
“I think so,” I sigh. “God, do you think I will ever get over it?”
“No, I don’t think losing your parents is something you get over, I think it’s just a tender hurt you learn to live with. It will take time, but it will get easier with each day.”
“I can still feel them sometimes,” I say softly before taking another large sip of my drink. “At night, when I feel alone in my apartment, I can sometimes feel that they’re there, watching over me.”