Page 27 of The Sweetest Risk

“Ugh fine.” She takes the cup from my fingers and downs it like a shot. She gags as the liquid makes its way down her throat. I gave her the glass of water to chase it with. I did get a whiff of the stuff and it did smell disgusting. Brooke drinks the water just as fast.

“There, now, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Kind of like my company?”

“Your company is worse.”

“Ouch.”

“Tristan, why are you here? You knew that my brother already came by, so why are you here?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to die on me, Cupcake. Despite what you say about my company, yours isn’t so bad.”

She curls up in her little corner like a cute little hermit. She continues to sip her medicine ball and lets out a small groan, almost like she is in pain.

“What do you need?”

“For you to go.”

“You are the sweetest person I know, Brooke Beckett.”

She grabs a coaster from the small basket in the middle of her coffee table and sets her white disposable cup on top of it. Jesus, she is Monica.

“Not a chance in hell I’m just leaving you here like this. Tell me, what is the thing you are wanting about right now but are too scared to tell me? I am here to help you.”

Brooke peeks over at me from her corner of the couch. “Well…” She lets out a breath. “There is this thing my mom used to do when I was sick when I was a kid. I would lie on her lap and she would pat my back. I guess when I was a baby that was a wayto calm me down and I would fall asleep every time. I still do. But she isn’t here and I could never ask you of all people…”

“Go ahead.”

“Go ahead what?”

“Ask me.”

“Tristan, no.”

“You can either come over here willingly or I will make you. It’s your choice.”

We have one of our epic staredowns. We have perfected these staredowns over time and they always make my heart explode since I have the opportunity to look into her almost purely green eyes – though there are moments when her eyes match her beautiful caramel hair and I get lost in them just the same.

She huffs, scoots her way across the couch toward me, and points at me with a serious look on her face. “Don’t get any ideas, Hot Shot. What happened the other night was a one-time thing.”

My stomach clenches at the thought that I will never do that to Brooke ever again. That would be my literal hell.

I raised my hands up. “Hey. I didn’t say a word. Your mind went there. It must be all those romance books you love to secretly read.”

“Oh it’s not a secret. I wear those like a badge of honor. You men like to tease but they are actually great manuals for you all on what women want. It’s kind of like a playbook in hockey so to speak. If you follow the playbook, there are more chances for a successful game, right?”

Brooke’s messy braid is falling out by the second but she pays no mind to it. I like how she is not overly concerned about how she looks or acts around me. She is just Brooke. She grabs one of her many throw pillows, something that I am going to tease her about later (seriously, who needs all these throw pillows?) and places it on my lap and finally gets comfortable. I begin pattingher back and I can already feel her breathing find a nice rhythm, and soon her head gets a little heavier on my lap.

“How’s that, Cupcake?” I murmur.

“It will suffice for now.” Before long, I can hear the faintest snore coming from Brooke. I continue to pat her back and, as always happens when this show is on, I get sucked into another episode. I’ve never felt this level of comfort with a woman before. I look down at the woman resting on my lap and take her in while I can. Brooke is nice like this. This version of Brooke isn’t barking back snide remarks or rolling her eyes or worse, completely ignoring me. One of her hands clutches the pillow and the other rests on my knee. She is completely at ease. And so am I.

Still, it is getting late and I know she would be more comfortable in her own bed.

I slowly take the pillow out from under her head and flip her around. I drape her arms around my neck and her head limply falls against the little nook between my shoulder and my neck. I stand up and walk toward her bedroom. I laugh internally because I know that Brooke would flip her shit if she was aware of how we looked. Like a real fucking couple. Or worse, a married couple where the groom is crossing the honeymoon threshold. I lower Brooke onto her bed and take off her slippers before tucking her inside her light pink sheets and white comforter. I spot a box of tissue and place it on her bedside table.

I look at how vulnerable she is. She has her guard down and I want to tell her about the bet. Maybe now is the time? I brush her hair out of her face, tracing her cheeks and jawline softly with my finger. She stirs slightly.

“Tristan?”

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