Page 45 of Adrift

He pulls away from me as my hands slide back to my sides, and I’m once again cursing dress designers everywhere for not giving me the one thing I truly want at this very moment. “I’ll go check on him,” he supplies through an unmistaken rasp in his voice. “It’s Friday and you’re still off the clock.”

With my stomach at my feet, I watch him leave the room, once again convinced I should check myself into a mental asylum.

Chapter Sixteen

Darian

“Yo!” My brother, Dean, peeks his head into my office, making me break my attention from the contract I was reviewing. His blond hair is a messy bun on his head, his teeth gleaming the way they do whenever he’s here to ask for something.

Dean is a firefighter in our local fire department. Sometimes when he’s not on shift, he’ll drop by to bum kayaks off me.

I turn back to my computer screen. “Let me guess . . .” I don’t have to finish the sentence.

“Any chance Mala and I can grab some kayaks for a couple of hours?”

We’ve talked about this before, but my brother is nothing if not persistent. That’s another way of saying he’s good at pestering until you want to ram your head into a wall.

I sigh. “My school can’t afford the liability if something were to happen to either of you in the water without an instructor or a safety patrol present.” I wheel my chair over to the middle of the desk and stretch my neck. Fuck, I’m exhausted. “Buy a couple of kayaks and store them here. You know I don’t mind that. But I can’t have you out there in the water with the ones with our emblem on them.”

“Dude, both Mala and I are skilled kayakers. You know this.” When he sees me give him an exhausted stare, he adds, “Alright, just this one time, and I’ll buy a couple. I’ll even purchase my own life vest and helmet. Come on, I’ll buy you a smoothie or some shit.”

“Tempting,” I deadpan.

He shifts into the middle of the doorway, with his hands inside his pockets, taking up most of the space. The three of us got our six-foot-plus frames from our dad since both our moms are on the shorter side.

“Please.” He drags the word.

I shake my head. “Fine. Whatever. If you guys die, that’s on you.”

“Got it.” He smirks.

I peer behind him. “Where is Mala, anyway? And what about Jessie?”

My brother’s best friend for the past five years, Mala, has become more like family. He brings her to our family gatherings and Christmas dinners, and she’s been his plus-one for weddings and other formal events.

I can’t count the number of times we’ve asked him about taking things further with her–she’s gorgeous, smart, and has an incredible personality–but he dodges the question every time. He’s even claimed she’s like the sister he never had.

The guy is smoking crack. If the way he looks at her and acts around her is any indication, there’s nothing brotherly about it.

Recently, his excuse was that he got back together with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Jessie. I hold in a groan even thinking about her. The woman is a needy narcissist. She constantly uses him as a cash cow, fluttering her eyes at him whenever she’s in trouble because for whatever reason, my brother cannot say no to her.

If I were to get started on all the reasons Jessie is wrong for him, it would take me all night to get through the list, but I guess some people have a thing for learning shit the hard way.

“Mala’s changing in the locker room.” He winks at me. “And Jessie’s at work.”

“Jackass,” I grumble. He planned on me saying yes even before he asked me and directed Mala to get changed.

“Too bad we share DNA.” He chuckles before his smile fades a little. He assesses me with an arched brow. “You okay, bro? I mean, you were born with that scowly-ass face of yours, but it seems worse today. Everything alright? How’s my nephew?”

I lift my cap off my head and throw it onto the desk, leaning back in my chair. “Yeah. Fine.”

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head, strolling into the room and taking a seat on the chair in front of me. “Don’t do that. Tell big brother what’s up.”

Fuck, I wish I knew myself.

It’s been almost a week since I kissed Rani, and she’s been giving me the cold-shoulder ever since–leaving the house as soon as I get home, eating dinner in her room, and leaving my texts on ‘read’ if I haven’t specifically asked about Arman. Every passing day has been more excruciating than the one before it.

I don’t blame her. I probably didn’t give her any reassurance that our kiss wasn’t something I regretted–not with my rigid body language and clipped tone the next day. Because, honestly, I didn’t know what to think of it. One minute I was still fuming inside my study at finding that red-headed tool’s hands on her–I might have peeked proactively through the camera at my door–and the next minute, she was shuffling into my space, enveloping me with her lily scent. She was so nervous and wound up, it was adorable as hell. And the next minute after that, my lips were locked with hers.

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