Page 23 of Fight Or Flight

Eric

I’m starting to sense a pattern of mistakes here.

Like big mistakes.

Gigantic, really.

The first one happened when I slept with Jade. The second was when I failed my road test and stole my uncle’s car an hour later. But the biggest one of all is the one I made when I dragged my ass up the stairs in the middle of the night and stole one of Bella’s Capri Suns.

Ah.

That’s a big fat lie.

I couldn’t fucking sleep and it wasn’t because I was thirsty. It had nothing to do with the pull-out mattress either. I came upstairs because I couldn’t shake Brooklyn from my mind. We barely had any interaction, and she was consuming my every thought. I was powerless, and I didn’t like it. So I did what any self-respecting Montgomery would do, and I went searching for the Oreos, after all, in this house, we are raised on the belief there is nothing a sleeve of Oreos and a gallon of milk can’t fix. Until now, I was a firm believer my parents were onto something, but now I know it’s all bullshit.

All the cookies in all the land and a pasture of cows couldn’t fix the mistake I was about to make.

I should’ve left Brooklyn in the kitchen as soon as she caught me sucking down my sister’s favorite drink, but Danny got in my fucking head this afternoon, and instead of fleeing, I froze. Not like a deer caught in headlights, but more like an imbecile who forgot how to act around a girl. I mean, I’m no expert, but I’ve got some game.

Just not around Brooklyn.

She called me out on not talking to her and it went downhill from there.

“So, is it just me that you don’t want to talk to?”

It wasn’t the words themselves that kept me rooted in place; it was the tone of her voice.

It was the desperation.

Hers to talk.

Mine to stay.

And that’s when I made the biggest mistake of all because as soon as she started to ramble on, I knew I could never truly walk away from her. Not now, not ten years from now. Not ever. There was some crazy force pulling me to this girl. A force from heaven, maybe, but one forged in hell for sure.

It took me a minute to get my bearings, to stop my eyes from traveling the length of her. She wore shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung off her shoulder, exposing a sliver of skin. It was distracting as fuck and I found myself clenching my fists simply because I didn’t trust myself not to close the distance between us and touch her. I managed to keep my hands to myself and lifted my gaze a little higher. Her hair was pulled in a high ponytail, drawing my attention to her face, and although it looked hella drawn, she was still so damn pretty.

Brooklyn was a hurricane, all right—a storm so fucking powerful she made you want to stand in the center of it and let the wind take you on a ride.

The more she rambled on about my bed, I realized everything was starting to catch up with her. It was time to make my move. I thought if I got in her good graces before she made the decision to hate me, then maybe, just maybe, I could do like Danny said and befriend her.

We’d be besties.

Bosom buddies.

Definitely not friends with benefits.

No, sir.

There’d be none of that.

Now, in the name of friendship, I’m on the verge of making another mistake. I think we’re in the double digits, but whatever. You live and you learn and if you don’t then you ain’t living.

I glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s behind me before leading her into the garage. My hand travels the wall in search of the light switch. Flicking it on, I step inside and make room for her to join me. Her eyes dart around aimlessly before looking back at me.

“You wanted to show me the garage?” she questions, pulling her eyebrows together in confusion.

I open my mouth to explain, but Flo Rida decides he wants in on the action and squawks. Brooklyn nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound and smacks a hand against my bare chest. It’s an innocent act. A gut reaction. But it feels like a brand.

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