Page 14 of My Rose

Briggs took another step closer, forcing my head back as he stared down at me like I was fascinating to him. “Very good.”

His hand lifted in the few inches between us, and my breath caught in my chest until a shrill voice came from the distance. “Briggsy! I found you!” The redhead bolted down the steps of August’s front porch down the road, shoes in hand. He sighed loudly and dropped his hand, taking a solid step back as she ran towards him. She looked like she was about to jump on him, but then he held out his arm, making her freeze in place and blow a raspberry at him. “Still no fun.” Her eyes circled my body along with her finger, not caring at all if the gesture was kind of rude with the way her face contorted. “Who’s this?”

“None of your—”

“Rose.” I held out my hand, which she eyed as if it were covered in shit before she stuck two fingers out, making me shake her hand in the most awkward way possible.

“Clarissa, pleasure.” She grimaced. Briggs’ whole body seemed to tense, some switch turning on in her presence I hadn’t felt come from him before. It made my skin crawl. She eyed his jacket, then looked over at him and smirked as she tossed her shoes over her shoulder, pointing back at the house with them. “I’m staying longer. Why don’t you take Rosie here home?”

“It’s Rose,” Briggs and I said in unison, which only made the ex-girlfriend laugh. She turned away, shouting something about having fun and not to bother getting her until she called later as if he was some kind of errand boy at her beck and call.

“Wow. Um…” My mouth hung open, watching her fumble back into the house—August’s house—swinging her shoes that dangled from her fingers. An unsettling realization struck me that August wasn’t even looking for me as I saw him doing another keg stand through the front window by the door. My stomach sank as I thought about him with another girl who wasn’t me.

“How about I get you another shot, and then I’ll take you home?” His tone was flat, and if there wasn’t a slight intonation at the end, I would have taken it as an order.

I wiped my palms down the sides of my dress. “How do you know I’m not planning on staying here, too?”

“What, with them? Doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.” There was that confidence again. Was I really that open-ended as a person? Because he was absolutely right. I hated crowds. And parties were the worst kind of crowd.

“Fine. I suppose it isn’t.” I refrained from pouting and dropped my shoulders in defeat. “You wouldn’t mind taking me home?”

“Not at all. What kind of a man would I be if I let you get drunk and didn’t get you home safely?” I glanced at the front door.He’d be like August.That kind of thing had happened before, it wasn’t exactly new to me. When I turned back to face Briggs, he lifted a finger and pointed at the house, his brows shooting toward the sky. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?” I asked, my fingers back to rubbing the edge of his jacket.

“Nothing.” He looked down at my hands. “Let’s get you that shot.”

“You don’t want one?” I eyed him over. He looked very…not drunk.

“That would be highly irresponsible of me, Rose.”

“Right. Right.” Of course, he’s fucking responsible, too. “And then you’re taking me straight home?”

“Straight home. Promise.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering where the boy from history class was buried under the man I saw in front of me. I decided to ignore all the questions I had about where he went after those few months of sharing the same class and followed Briggs around the back to take one last shot.

Chapter 7

Rose

“Anything cracked will shatter at a touch.” ? Ovid

Something shifted the moment I slid into the passenger seat of Briggs’ car. Or maybe it was before that, right when his ex almost interrupted…something. There was something between us, or at least there had been. For a small fraction of time,I thought he was going to do more than talk. But then it was like he flipped a switch and remained quiet and distant ever since.

My palms raked up and down my thighs, the shortness of my dress causing me more discomfort by the second. “Is everything alright?”

He gave a single nod, then turned the heat on in his car. More silence dragged on, and it was gnawing at me. I didn’t think I was insecure, but I was feeling that creeping sensation all the way down my leather-covered arms.

My agitation flared. I took his jacket off hastily, then tossed it into his lap, refraining from balling it up and throwing it in his face while he was driving. “Thanks, but I don’t need your jacket anymore.” It came out more childish than I intended, but whatever.

His fingers curled around the steering wheel and a muscle worked over the sharp curve of his jaw. Several times.

“Did I do something? Like, I don’t understand what happened. You were nice back there, and—”

“I’m not nice. Don’t call me that,” he snapped back.

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, kind. Thoughtful. Whatever word you prefer, I don’t care.”

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