Page 41 of Fighting for You
12/13 2:17 p.m.
Ripley: I don’t know about Thea, but I’m a BIG fan of Brooks. Yeah, he has his moments where he’ll actively try to burn every relationship he has to the ground, but I think it’s part of his charm. There’s always that thirty seconds when he first enters a room and you’re trying to figure out if he chose violence that morning. It’s pretty exhilarating.
12/13 2:18 p.m.
Thea: I don’t think that sounds as appealing as you think, babe.
12/13 2:18 p.m.
Ripley: In all seriousness, he’s always had my back. He might have his own set of rules he lives by, but the man gives his all to whatever he cares about.
12/13 2:19 p.m.
Thea: Despite my annoyance with him 99.9% of the time, I agree with Rip. Brooks isn’t as hard as he wants people to think, and he’ll never say it, but he genuinely cares. When he can get out of his own way, he’s a good man to have in your corner.
My whole body warms with confirmation of what I think I’ve known all along about the man in question. It’s comforting to see he has people who know enough about him to love him despite his sharp edges.
12/13 2:20 p.m.
Me: Thanks.
Read2:21 p.m.
12/13 2:22 p.m.
Ripley: I will say this, a lot of the rumors about him may not be true, but some definitely are. Take it from both Thea and me and our (unfortunate) eye-witness experience: Wrap. It. Up.
My cheeks heat at Ripley’s insinuation. I put my phone down and go back to prepping veggies for my lunches for the next few days.
Spending time with Brooks is one thing, getting intimate is a whole other beast. Thinking back to when he asked me out, I’m feeling a slight pang of regret at how quickly I dismissed him. Should I open myself up to going on a date with him?
He’s been nothing but sweet to me since the moment I met him. He’s undeniably hot; it’s not even subjective—just fact. How would he react if things escalated and I told him I’m avirgin? I’m getting ahead of myself. We are so far from anything like that.
The other major issue is my brother. More than once he’s insinuated I need to stay away from Brooks, even though he’s the one who sent him to my house to fix my pipes. But they’re friends. Surely he’s aware of what Brooks is really like, right?
The more I think about it, the harder it is to come up with reasons I shouldn’t take Brooks up on his dinner offer. If he’s even still interested after I turned him down and everything he learned about my family today.
Chapter Seventeen
Brooks
I’ve spent the last hour trying to find the balls to bring Margot up to Ripley. I know he’ll be chill about it—or as chill as Ripley is capable of being. He tends to get excited about things prematurely. When I told him I wanted to help in the distillery years ago, he was so stoked he put together a five-year growth plan with the two of us at the helm and presented it to me with crazy eyes and a creepy ass smile. I almost took the offer back because of it.
I’m embarrassed I even have to ask for his advice. I’ve seen dates on TV. I know what the concept is. My issue is Margot. I don’t think she’s the type of girl who wants to go to dinner and a movie. Plus, that sounds boring as fuck.
I also hope she says yes this time. If she doesn’t, there won’t be a fourth. I may be slightly obsessed with her, but I won’t humiliate myself. Being turned down twice has already bruised my ego, but I can’t deny the pull I have toward her or the moment we shared at her dad’s house.
She’s more thanjust a girlthough. I see that now. I feel it in my bones, my soul. The desolate yet beautiful look on her face after we dealt with her dad is ingrained in my brain. So much so, I picked up my sketchbook for the first time in years last night just so I could get it out. I haven’t drawn in over a decade at this point, the most I’ve done is graphic art, which isn’t the same. Using my hands to make something as beautiful as Margot is its own artform.
When I finished the drawing, it felt like a piece of my shattered heart found its place again. I’ve suppressed that part of myself for so long. I’ve wanted it back, needed it back even, but it felt impossible. Over the last fifteen years, I’ve put my shit aside to be what I thought my parents wanted me to be. Now they’re gone, and after reading my mom’s letter, I’ve started to wonder why I ever let their view of me interfere with my passions. I shouldn’t have let their laughter deter me when I told them I wanted to become a tattoo artist. I should have let it fuel me.
I’m walking around the distillery, shifting barrels and doing whatever else Ripley needs me to do to get ready for our tasting in thirty minutes with the sketch in my back pocket like a fucking stalker. Clearing my throat, I get his attention from behind the bar where he’s restocking before patrons get here. “Hey, uh… after the tastings, can we talk a bit?”
His brows crease as he meets my eyes. “Shit, you aren’t quitting on us too, are you?” The despair from the possibility of me saying yes to his question is written all over his face.
I jolt back in confusion. “What? No. Who’s quitting?”
“Travis. He put in his notice, and Thea’s scrambling to find someone to replace him,” he answers.
