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Brant comes over and cooks us family dinners at least once a week, and we often spend one-on-one time together grabbing coffee, riding our bikes at the forest preserve, or lounging on the beach. Kip joins us for family barbecues on occasion, having formed a deep bond with my parents, ignoring the fact that our lips have locked, lips have locked, that our tongues have tasted.
It was just a blip in our ever-complicated history.
In terms of outward appearances, at least.
We may have put it behind us, sure…but it followed me.
It nibbles at my ankles every now and then when Brant looks at me a certain way, his eyes hooded, or when he holds me for a beat too long as he hugs me goodbye, or when his knuckles graze my own while we walk side by side, his soapy scent enveloping me in a heady cloud.
A sigh leaves me, and it must tremble slightly because Brant notices.
“You okay?” he asks, reaching across the center console and cradling my unoccupied hand that has balled up in my lap. “You seem on edge.”
“I’m good.” My tone is strained despite my attempt to sound perky, and my hand pulses with warmth inside his grasp. “Just thinking about my dismal future, as usual.”
He hesitates for a moment. “You know, you could…” His voice trails off.
Turning onto the familiar street that houses his apartment complex, I shoot him a quick look. “I could what?”
“Never mind. Not a good idea.”
I frown. “Brant, tell me. You must.”
“I just…” He resituates in his seat, blowing out a hard breath. Another few beats go by before he finishes. “You could move in with me…if you want.”
My heart stops.
A strangled sensation inches its way up my chest and into my throat.
“Like I said—bad idea.” He tries to recover. “I just figured…a year’s gone by, we’re in a better place, and you deserve a taste of independence. But maybe—”
“No, you’re right.” Swallowing, I start nodding my head. “I’ll think about it. If you’re sure.”
Move in with…Brant?
Brant…as my roommate?
I’m not sure if the idea is preposterous or strangely compelling.
We lived together under one roof for most of our lives, so this wouldn’t be much different.
He has two separate bedrooms.
Plus he works almost every day of the week, so we’d hardly even see each other.
My hand that grips the steering wheel goes white-knuckled as the invitation processes. Brant lets go of my other hand, scratching at the back of his head and murmuring, “Yeah, I’m sure.”
I don’t say anything as I pull into the complex’s parking lot and stop the car. The air feels thick and heavy, hardly enough to breathe off of, so I roll down my window and drink in a few deep breaths as the evening breeze filters through.
I’m about to say my good-nights when Brant speaks first. “Do you want to come inside?”
That lump returns to my throat as I glance at him. I’m unable to pinpoint the sentiment gleaming back at me, but it feels different. It feels…charged.
His hazel eyes are glowing in the muted moonlight, earthy and electric.
I’m tempted to say yes; so, so tempted.
But I have plans already.
