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I hate when people treat women badly, like my uncle did to my aunt. Then my aunt treated me badly because shit rolls downhill. “Your ex tossed all your things out in garbage bags because he cheated on you. He tried to keep your cat. He stole your ideas. I’m offering to be your tripod. Just let me, Briar.”
She taps her chin playfully, as if considering it, then says, “Well, I suppose it is what an Instagram boyfriend would do.”
I laugh and that feels good too. She hands me the phone and tells me what to shoot as she finishes a vinyasa.
Ten minutes later, we’re done, and she pops up after a long, deep exhale that had me feeling connected to the earth and at peace in my body.
“How does it look?” She gestures to the phone.
I pretend to give it some serious thought, like an auteur would. “It could be better with a long establishing shot. Or maybe a crane shot if you’d like,” I deadpan.
She bumps her shoulder to mine.
That should not send tingles across my skin.
It should not.
But it does.
“Are you Christopher Nolan or something? Greta Gerwig?” she teases.
“For my next career I’ll be a director,” I say, then pause to shift gears. “I mean it, Briar. Let me know what else I can help with.” Running from her won’t do me any good. Hiding is for weaker men. “I would like to.”
“Thank you,” she says with a smile, but then her expression turns serious as she says my name. “Gavin. I’m sorry about last night.”
My brow furrows. “What about it?”
“I don’t want to have this hanging between us. I don’t want things to be awkward. So I’m just going to say it,” she says with a resolute nod. “I’m sorry if we kept you up.”
My face flames. She knows I ran off. She knows I heard her coming. She knows that’s why I left.
C’mon, poker face, do your thing. “It’s fine,” I grunt, trying to be tough and unaffected.
“Good. Because I’m grateful you’re letting me stay here, and I don’t want to be a rude roommate.”
“You’re not.” You’re sexy, and funny, and direct, and you don’t suffer fools.
“Thanks,” she says, then heads to the door with her dog, tossing me a look before she goes in—a long, lingering one that’s like a match to the kindling in me. The flames lick my skin, then burn hotter as she says, “You can direct me anytime.”
Then she goes inside, leaving me with those parting words.
Does she mean in the bedroom? It’s all I can think about as I shower off the run. It’s all I can think about as I engage in round three of my hand’s tribute to Briar.
This is going to be a fucking problem.
Especially since thirty minutes later as I finish getting dressed, there’s a text from her blinking up at me on my phone.
With a very naughty emoticon.
30
BREAKFAST IS SERVED
Hollis
When I open the fridge, my eyes pop.
Is that my favorite breakfast? Pretty sure it is. I take out the bowl of chia seed pudding and find a Post-it note on it.
