When I re-entered the room a few minutes later, Brandt’s shoulders fell when he saw me. “You already brushed your hair.”
We both knew I’d been able to improve my motor function enough to brush my own hair years ago, but Brandt liked messing with it so much, he usually brushed it for me on the nights he came over.
Tonight, for my own peace of mind, I couldn’t let him. I always got the feels when he brushed my hair, and I needed to stay away from such intimacy.
That was why I’d accepted Seth’s date, as a way to resolve myself to the fact I would never be anything more to Brandt. I needed to stop pining and stalling my own life and try to start living it.
But Brandt’s puppy-dog eyes were telling me he feared the end of our friendship was already beginning just because I hadn’t let him brush my freaking hair. So I avoided eye contact as I turned off the light and wheeled to the bed. He already sat on the mattress under the covers and when I approached, he scooted over to give me room.
I paused to set the alarm earlier than usual so he’d have time to leave before my family woke. There was no reason for him to sneak in and out of my room now that we were twenty-two, but I think it’d just become a habit for him, so he kept doing it. I wasn’t complaining since I liked it too; it was our thing.
Besides, Brandt Gamble was an amazing cuddler. He was everything safe, and comfortable, and familiar. Once I crawled in beside him and landed on my side, facing away, he curled up behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. With a happy sigh, I closed my eyes and sank into my pillow.
“You know,” he said into the dark, not ten seconds later. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin. That whole hype of needing to lose it by a certain age is utter bullshit. I actually respect people who want to wait until they find true love. And honestly, sex really isn’t all that.”
“Oh yeah?” I murmured, amused he was still so worried about losing me. It was funny that he even thought that was possible.
“It’s not,” he muttered grouchily. “It’s just skin slapping against skin, strange, uncomfortable positions, bodily functions flinging everywhere, hurt feelings when one person feels more than another one does. Not glamorous at all when you come right down to it. It’s really kind of...disappointing.”
Snickering, I tucked my hands under my chin. “Then why aren’t you a virgin?”
He sniffed. “Maybe I am.”
“Oh, really?” With a laugh, I wiggled out from under his arm so I could roll around to face him in the dark. “So you were never with Shayla Birmingham? Hope Deardon? Rachel—”
“What? How did you— Damn,” he grumbled something I didn’t catch before asking, “How did you know about them?”
“Because I’m not stupid. I know what your real problem is, anyway.”
He lay close enough that I could feel his body tense before he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a problem. Other than concern for you, of course.”
Reaching out until I found his face, I cupped his bristled cheek and murmured, “Nothing between us is ever going to change, whether I get a boyfriend or not.”
I was fairly certain I wouldn’t. I was enough of a realist to know one date didn’t mean anything. But it was sweet of Brandt to think it did.
Leaning closer until his breath washed across my face, he whispered, “Promise?”
I closed my eyes, wondering what it’d feel like to press my lips to his even as I murmured, “On my mother’s grave.”
“Good.” Seemingly settled by my assurance, he rolled onto his back and brought me with him until he had me positioned against him with my cheek resting on his chest. “`Night, then.”
As he fell asleep, his heartbeat echoing through my ear, I stole a couple seconds to merely enjoy the feel of him, warm and hard and comfortable.
I hadn’t been lying when I’d promised him nothing would ever change, because that was how he wanted it, and I’d always be whatever he needed me to be.
That’s what friends did for each other, and he was my most cherished friend.
SARAH
“Mason!” Reese hollered through the house. “You should probably come get your little heathens before I strangle them.”
I laughed as Gracen, Reese’s two-year-old son, slipped out from under her arm and raced back to me where I sat on the bed, followed almost immediately by his twin sister Isabella when she wiggled free of her mother. As they crawled onto the mattress, Issa fascinated with my earrings and Gray tugging at the silver heart broach of my necklace, Reese spun back and threw up her hands in defeat.
“I give up. There’s no stopping them.”
“What’s wrong?” Mason appeared in the doorway, cautiously peering in at the chaos.
“Your children...” Reese pointed them out, in case he’d forgotten which ones they were, I guess. “Keep crawling all over Sarah.”