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“Yeah, I’m beat.”
She clicks her fob, and a small sedan down the street beeps. “I was going to ask if you were game to go to a bar on the outskirts of town. It’s a biker bar and they’re open late. You’d fit right in.”
Her hand runs down the arm of my jacket, an arm that holds tattoos that probably make her think that. Her bright-green eyes are full of lust. If she was a customer… maybe, but she’s a coworker. Besides, I already have a set of baby blues I can’t get out of my head.
“Sorry, another time. I’m beat.” I’m mostly tired from staying up late and waiting for Brinley to come home. Her whole story of a work project and going home is bullshit, and all I want to do is apologize and tell her it won’t happen again.
“Okay, but I’m a great dancer.” She smiles and walks away.
I wait at the curb for her to climb into her car. Once she drives off, I walk down the sidewalk toward the apartment. It’s eerily quiet since we’re the last business open in Lake Starlight. Smokin’ Guns is dark, and so are the diner and all the other restaurants and shops. But it’s nice, the quiet of a small town at night. Kodiak had a few rare nights like this, but too much happens on the water at all times of the day for it to be quiet like this. I fight the urge to walk to the lake and instead use my key to open the apartment door.
When I walk into the apartment, the kitchen stove light is on, but nothing else is. I smell her perfume, and it’s fresh, so I know she’s returned. That shouldn’t make my heart race or fill my body with peace, but it does. She’s not mine. I’ve known her for a week, for Christ’s sake.
There’s another note on the dry-erase board right under rule number one.
* * *
Van,
* * *
I’m home. Thanks for keeping the place so tidy. See you in the morning.
* * *
Brin
* * *
I’ve noticed a lot of her cousins and her parents refer to her as Brin, but I haven’t felt comfortable shortening her name yet. Shortening someone’s name feels intimate, or like you’ve known that person for years, know their darkest secrets. I know nothing about Brinley except that she hasn’t gotten over her divorce and one day, she’ll be the boss of Bailey Timber.
I grab a beer, toe out of my shoes, and sit on the couch, turning on the TV and keeping the volume down to a minimum. Clicking through the channels, I don’t find much I want to watch, so I leave it on some Rambo-looking show with a lot of guns and knives and camouflage. My mind wanders as it usually does late at night.
Thoughts of being on that helicopter and the rush of jumping into the cold ocean. Adrenaline stirs inside me with the anticipation that I’m one week closer to it.
Her bedroom door creaking open pulls me from my thoughts, and for a moment, I wish I hadn’t looked up at her. She’s wearing short pajama shorts and a tank top with no bra. Fuck me, this is pure torture.
She offers a little wave. “You got my note?”
“Sorry, was I too loud? I can turn it down.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t sleep. I heard you come in because I was wide awake.”
She sits in the chair and pulls the plaid blanket off the arm and over herself. I thank whoever is up above for small miracles.
“Listen, Brinley—”
She puts up her hands. “Don’t.”
“I should’ve had more self-control.”
She shakes her head. “We both should have, but me running away like that was just juvenile. I wish I had a better answer, but I was embarrassed. Here you are looking like that. Who runs away from a kiss with you?”
I don’t say so, but she’s right. I haven’t been turned down since high school. “Still, we told one another we wouldn’t. I’m happy to move out.”
Her blue eyes widen, and for a second, I swear fear flashes in them before it morphs into concern. “Do you want to move out?”
“No, but I’m not going to run you out of your apartment. I’ll find something else.”
