Page 35 of Fighting for You
I empty my lungs, and my body deflates at being caught. When I turn around, Brooks is sitting up on the sofa, lazy grin spread across his face and eyes still sleepy.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you,” I say feebly. There’s a long pause as we take each other in. His cerulean eyes rake up and down my body, something akin to satisfaction reflected in his expression when he sees I’m wearing his clothes. I immediately heat from my head to my toes, my cheeks especially. “This is your house? How did we get here?” I ask, trying to deflect from my discomfort at his scrutiny.
He says something as he stands and stretches his long limbs. I’m distracted from his answer by the plain black T he’s now wearing riding up and giving me a good look at his toned abs. My eyes graze lower and catch a bulge in the briefs he must have slept in. A very prominent bulge.
It’s the morning, and he’s a man. It’s very common.
Somehow I can’t tear my eyes away—at least not until he clears his throat, at which point I meet his amused gaze, and my body heats even further, this time in embarrassment.
“My eyes are up here, baby,” he says with a chuckle. His morning voice causing a shiver to cascade all the way down my spine. I barely suppress a tremble.
The endearment triggers a flash of last night in the back of my mind: the feeling of his warm body, holding me close, vibrations from his motorcycle underneath me. It’s quickly swallowed up by the grey cloud of nothing that is my drunken memories.
“How do you like your eggs?” Brooks asks as he adjusts himself and walks over to the adjoining kitchen.
I follow him, feeling rude for trying to sneak away, and plant myself on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
“I’m not picky,” I say, and then add, “Do you have a charger? My phone’s dead.” My words are stunted. I’m embarrassed by my state this morning and by what I may have said yesterday. I’ve never been drunk before, I don’t know how I act when intoxicated. I’ve never woken up in a man’s house before after a night of… well, I’m not really sure of what.
Did he change me out of my dress?I’m too mortified to ask.
The shame of not remembering what could have possibly happened claws up my throat, and I stammer out, “I—I’m sorry. If I did—or said—anything last night.” My hands come up to cover my face. “I don’t drink usually. It was a first for me, and I’m sorry if I embarrassed myself.”
Brooks pauses his perusal of the fridge and looks over. His face is blank, but his eyes take in every inch of me. After a brief moment, he steps over to me and invades my space. His arms cage me in against the counter. The warmth of his body doing nothing to cool my overheated skin. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Freckles,” he murmurs, eyes hooded and locked on mine. “I’m just lucky my mama taught me to be a gentleman.”
He steps away with his lips quirked in that way that makes my brain stutter, and I’m left reeling with what his words could possibly mean.
“The charger’s right there,” he says, indicating with his chin, before he turns back to the fridge and pulls out an armful of ingredients.
I charge my phone while Brooks cooks, my gaze straying to the way his clothes hug his body, his sure movements. He hasn’t bothered putting on anything over his briefs, and the moment feels strangely domestic, like something we’ve been doing forever.
As my phone finally powers on and I see it’s close to ten, Brooks drops a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon in front of me. It’s nothing fancy, but the smells promise protein and grease—a welcome scent to my hungover tummy.
I dig right in, and he joins me on the nearby stool. We eat in silence for a bit, and then I ask, “So this is your parents’ house? The one you’re going to fix up?”
“Yeah,” Brooks says around a mouthful of eggs and then adds after swallowing, “I figure if I can update it enough, I can sell it for a decent price.”
I nod. “Definitely. Imagine if you opened up the window here,” I say pointing to what’s now a tiny over-the-sink window. “You’d be able to see the whole backyard and get so much more light. And these cabinets should definitely be white. Oh, or sage!” I get so lost in the dream of renovating the small but cozy kitchen, I don’t even notice Brooks has stopped eating and is listening intently. “And the island should really be facing the other direction. Imagine how much more usable it would be if it was turned…” I trail off as I catch sight of the look on his face.
“I like your ideas,” he says in his deep rumble. “Maybe… maybe I can take you out to dinner and you could tell me more?” His eyes are vulnerable and his expression open.
My stomach bottoms out. I can’t tell if it’s the instant nerves from Brooks asking me out or the alcohol still gripping my stomach, but I feel ill. I want to say yes, but all of my insecuritiesfrom last night and this morning make me feel raw. I’m curious about him, but I think he’d lose interest in me quickly.
“I… don’t think that’s a good idea,” I finally say, and his gaze narrows at me in question. “I’m not sure I’m the right girl for that… for you. I’m not what you’re looking for. I’m… not like that.”
There’s a silent pause that lasts for a beat. Two. Three. Our eyes are still locked, and I can’t look away, despite the adrenaline in my veins.
And then Brooks breaks the quiet as he cocks his head and says, “Not like that, huh? Not likewhatexactly?”
I scramble for the right way to tell him how we’re not a good fit. I have no experience in… home renovation, let alone much else. My mouth starts forming around the words explaining how his reputation paints him as someone I wouldn’t know how to handle, how my inexperience would be of no interest to him, but I’m saved by my ringing phone.
Hayes.
“Hey, Hayes,” I say into the phone, my eyes locking with Brooks’ and hoping he knows enough to keep quiet. I’m not ready to explain what I’m doing with Brooks to my brother.
“Margot,” he snaps, and for a split second I think he knows where I am. Panic fills me, like I’m about to be scolded. “You need to get over to Dad’s. I tried to go over there today, but he started spewing his bullshit, and I can’t deal with him.”
I let out a relieved breath. “Uh, yeah. I’ll head over there. Is he okay?”
