Page 29 of Break Out

“This is great, Aubrey.” I take a seat next to her. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, I did. Your phone went off a couple of times while you were in the shower.”

“Thanks. Probably the guys,” I say, taking a sip of coffee and letting out a contented sigh as the first drop of caffeine hits my blood stream.

“How are we going to convince my family we’re actually dating?”

Well, alrighty then. I knew this conversation would come up, but I didn’t expect it to be right now. I take a bite of melon, chewing and swallowing before answering. “What do you think we should do?”

Aubrey takes a deep breath but doesn’t say anything. I can see the wheels turning in her head, going over and over whatever she’s working up the courage to say. She’s chewing on her bottom lip and, fuck me, I want to reach over and pluck it from between her teeth, be the one to chew on it.

What the hell is wrong with me? She wouldn’t appreciate you doing that, I remind myself. You kissed her on New Year’s Eve, and she ran. Clearly, you’re not who she wants.

I watch her studying the pattern on the couch like it’ll solve all her problems, giving her another moment to collect her thoughts before she speaks. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s to not rush her. So I wait, silently eating my breakfast.

She rolls her shoulders and looks up at me. “We should hold hands.”

That’s it? We hug all the time, so why was it so hard for her to suggest we hold hands? “Okay. What else?”

“I don’t know.” She blows out a breath, her shoulders sagging. “No one’s going to believe us. I’m never going to hear the end of it from my mother . . .”

“Hey. Hey,” I say, setting my plate down and reaching for her hand. “What’s really going on?”

“It’s been nonstop from my mother since Clara got engaged about how I’m still not married and I’m the oldest. That’s all she seems to care about—us getting married and having kids. I have a PhD for fuck’s sake, but the only three letters she cares about is Mrs.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, tugging her closer to me and wrapping my arms around her.

Before I can say anything else, there’s a knock at the door. Aubrey pulls out of my arms and goes over to answer. A minute later she comes back into view, pulling her suitcase behind her.

“I should go hang my clothes up,” she mumbles, refusing to meet my eyes. “Everything is probably super wrinkled now. Thank goodness I packed my steamer.”

I stay silent watching her. I know what she’s doing, she’s avoiding the conversation. I hate that she does this. But for now, I’ll let her. Because if I push too hard, she’ll shut down on me. I nod and finish my breakfast in silence, turning over in my head what she told me about her mom. It’s nothing new. Why does it bother her so much now? Maybe because she’s about to watch her baby sister get married?

I set the empty plate on the coffee table and go in search of my phone. I unlock it and see there are quite a few text messages in the group chat.

Holt: B, you alive?

Wes: He’s probably busy with Aubrey. Getting busy. *winking emoji*

Caleb: Don’t be crude.

Wes: Just pointing out the obvious.

I shake my head at their ridiculousness, a smirk playing on my lips. I type out a quick response.

Me: Yes, I’m alive. We have brunch in a few hours. Ask me later if I’m still alive.

Wes: Good luck, Brod.

Hunter: I’m sure it’ll be fine.

Caleb: Have fun.

Before I can respond, Aubrey calls me from the other room. “Brod, can you come in here?”

I find her in the bathroom with a steamer in her hand, multiple outfits and jumpsuit things hanging from the shower rod. Yep, Aubrey is stressed. This is what stressed Aubrey does—organizes or cleans. Or in this case, steams all her clothes.

“Do you need me to steam anything for you?” she asks, waving the steamer in the air.