Page 19 of That Moment
“That Scotty and I are just doing our ‘same old dance.’ That doesn’t mean anything.”
Brooklyn hums. “And that stung.”
I swallow. “A little.”
“Adrienne.” Her voice gentles. “Isn’t it, though? I mean, Milly and I said the same thing at lunch today.”
I pull the blanket tighter around me, staring at the rim of my glass. “No. It’s not.”
Silence. Then, carefully: “Are you sure, or is that you don’t want it to be the same?”
“Of course I’m sure.” The words come out too fast, too defensive. “We are working on my car, that’s it. Everyone immediately jumps to these conclusions that are frankly annoying and a little immature at this stage in life. Why can’t two adults just be friends?”
My outburst is met with Brooklyn’s patient silence on the other end.
“Okay," she says slowly, clearly trying to think through what she says next. “Is it that you are mad that people tease you about it, or are you mad that it never turns into anything more?”
“It’s never been anything more; you all just act like it has or make it out to be something it wasn’t. We’ve flirted, that’s all. And we did have that stupid kiss as teenagers, but it’s—we’ve never even—” my throat grows tight with frustration, tight with the reality that maybe I’ve fucked this up without ever getting a real shot at it.
I force myself to slow down. “I asked Scotty to help me with the Mustang, and he said yes. I’m not backing out; that isn’t an option. I want to do this. Really do it. And it’s not just about the car. I—” My throat tightens. “I want him, Brook.”
There. The words are out, heavy and terrifying.
On the other end, she goes quiet. Then, softly: “Want him like… You want to sleep with him, or want him like… more?”
My laugh is shaky. “Both.”
“Wow.” She doesn’t sound shocked, exactly, more like she’s bracing herself. “That’s… big.”
“I know.” I rub a hand over my face. “I’ve been circling him for years. Flirting, almost crossing that line, almost going for it, but then pulling back. I thought it was just a game we both liked. But today, standing in that garage, working on the Mustang side by side—I didn’t want it to be a game. Not anymore.”
“And he?” she presses.
The knot in my chest returns, hard. “When I joked about the plans he had tonight being a date, he said maybe. Maybe Brooklyn.”
“Ouch.” Brooklyn winces audibly.
“Right? And I don’t even know if he meant it, or if it was just him trying to put me back in my place. But it worked. Because now all I can think about is who else he might be with right now while I’m here, alone, overanalyzing everything.”
“Or,” she says gently, “maybe he said it because he’s terrified of wanting you back.”
I snort. “Scotty? Terrified of me? He’s the one who shrugs off every attempt I make, like I’m some kind of harmless flirt. I think I may have dragged my feet a little too long on this one.”
“Exactly.” Brooklyn’s voice sharpens. “Because if he takes you seriously, Adrienne, then it isn’t harmless anymore. You both have a lot to lose.”
That lands too close. My eyes sting. “I hate that he gets to decide that. That everyone thinks I’m just going to play the same game forever, that it’s not real.”
Her tone softens again. “So make it real. If this is different, if you want him for more than just flirting, then own it. You’ve never been afraid to fight for anything else in your life. Why let him be the exception?”
Because he scares me. Because the idea of wanting him and him not wanting me back terrifies me in ways no courtroom or contract ever could.
“I don’t know,” I murmur.
“You don’t have to know tonight,” she says, her voice reassuring. “You just have to be honest with yourself about what you want and be ready to walk away if he can’t offer that. You deserve more than a maybe. Don’t forget that.”
The ache in my chest softens, just a little. “Thanks, babe.”
“Anytime.” In the background, I hear the faint wail of one of her twins. “And on that note, I need to go stop a war from breaking out. Call me tomorrow?”
