Page 23 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
“Pretend this is a date,” I say and immediately turn bright red, my face so hot that I’m tempted to press my cold fingers to my cheeks. “I mean for me. Pretend you’re Mark, and we’re on a date, and answer the question.”
“Am I answering as if I’m Mickey or myself? Because I don’t really know your math textbook crush, so I’m not sure I can—”
I groan. This is why I never bothered to get to know him. He’s way too good at pushing my buttons. “Will you stop making this so difficult?”
Chuckling, he holds up his hands in surrender. “Public relations. I got recruited to a firm in Newport Beach right after graduating and worked there up until a year ago.”
“Why did you come back?”
“A lot of reasons,” he says with a shrug, and I get the weird feeling that he’s hiding something in that response. “It’s been nice being home while my mom goes through another round of chemo.”
My heart sinks, aching for him as I imagine what he’s going through. I was so young when my mom got sick, but I have enough vague memories of those days that I know how hard it is to watch someone go through something like that.
As if he sees my shared pain, Jordan reaches out and grabs my hand. “She’s doing really well, all things considered. And the doctors are hopeful she’ll be in full remission.”
“Thank you,” I choke as my body relaxes. I hadn’t even realized how tense I had gotten. “I mean, thanks for telling me. I’ll be sending good vibes her way.”
“Thanks.” He swallows, studying my face, and then he looks down at our clasped hands before pulling his fingers back. “Uh, you wanted to know about the World Series? What sort of stuff?”
I’m not sure why the room feels slightly different than it did a minute ago, but it does. Like things have shifted ever so slightly. And I have no idea what to do about that. “How does it work? Houston said something about how quickly they win.”
Jordan’s smile looks less real than it usually does, which makes me wonder if he feels the shift too. “Well, it’s best out of seven, so if they win the first four games, the Series only lasts four games. But they lost the first game, so they’ll play at least five.”
“They won tonight,” I say, even if that’s hardly contributing to the conversation. I’m sure Jordan already knows that part. “And they won the last game too.”
His smile growing wider—more natural—he nods. “They did. They won today because Houston rarely loses. If his team plays well tomorrow, he might not even have to pitch again since he won’t pitch until Game Six.” For some reason, he seems relieved about that.
“Who decides which teams get to play?” I ask, though I’m tempted to ask why Jordan doesn’t seem to want Houston to pitch again this season. My brother only has a year left on his contract, so wouldn’t he want Houston to play as much as he can? Whatever the reason, it feels like something Jordan or even Houston would tell me if it was important, so I’m going to let it go for now.
Instead, I let Jordan walk me through the ins and outs (literally) of baseball because I like the way he relaxes the longer he talks. And, it turns out, I like talking to him. He never makes me feel stupid for not knowing something, and he explains things in a way that’s so easy to understand.
And maybe there’s a small part of me that wonders if he’s always been this easy to talk to and I was just too annoyed to see the real guy underneath the teasing. That’s as intriguing as it is slightly terrifying, and I don’t let myself dwell on the idea of forming an actual friendship with my brother’s best friend.
Or anything beyond.
Chapter Nine
Jordan
There is nothing cuter than a sleepy Brooklyn Briggs. While she’s cute no matter how awake she is, I discover pretty quickly that she loses all inhibitions when she gets tired. I don’t mean she starts saying weird things or spilling random truths. No, when Brooklyn gets tired, she goes into sweetness overload.
After telling her about how my mom taught me to cook, especially over the last year, our conversation shifts to the types of food we like, and Brooklyn goes off about this Chinese place nearby that is run by a cute lady who barely speaks English but always gives her an extra fortune cookie, which means Brooklyn always tips extra.
Then we talk about how fortune cookies aren’t even Chinese, and she says she loves them anyway and keeps all of her fortunes. Apparently she has a stockpile of them somewhere in this basement, though she won’t tell me where. When I mention never paying attention to my fortunes, Brooklyn offers to share hers because everyone needs some extra luck in their lives.
After several more random topics, she starts getting extra tired, and we turn onDownton Abbeyagain, which leads to Brooklyn saying everything she loves about each of the characters and crying during the more emotional scenes. She makes it seem like the characters are her friends. No matter how interested I am in the show, I’m way more fascinated by the girl on the other side of the couch who feels so much.
Maybe a little too fascinated. I’ve always wanted to know her, but now that she’s actually giving me a chance to see beyond the beautiful exterior, I’m learning she’s even more beautiful inside. Houston talks all the time about his twin’s kindness and empathy, but I’m starting to think he has grossly underestimated her pure heart. It has me wondering again why she has only ever dated jerks and guys who think watching paint dry is interesting.
Does she not realize that she deserves someone who will adore every facet of her? I know there are good guys out there, but somehow she always picks the bad ones.
Who Brooklyn dates is definitely none of my business, but I have put myself in a unique position with this flirt coaching idea I came up with. For however long she lets this last, I have the chance to build her up and make sure she stops settling.
When she eventually falls asleep beside me, I pause the show so we can pick back up tomorrow. Even if I’d like to keep going, I don’t know if watching it on my own will compare to appreciating the characters the way Brooklyn does. I wonder if she sees everything with such love and fascination, and then I come to the conclusion that I’m doing way too much wondering when it comes to Brooklyn.
“Hey, Queens,” I say, nudging her shoulder. She doesn’t budge, which is surprising with how much she’s already slept today. “Brooklyn, I’m going to take you to your bed, okay?” I probably shouldn’t just pick her up and take her to her room, as easy as it would be. I’ve taken a lot of liberties as it is.
Slipping off the couch, I crouch in front of her and give in to the temptation to tuck some hair behind her ear to get it out of her face. It’s as soft as it looks. “You gotta give me something, sleepyhead, or I’ll be trading you for your bed if you stay here. I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
