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“Because it’s manipulative,” I agreed. “And the only place I like to play games is in the bedroom.”
“Oh, really?” Brandon grinned lasciviously, but I swatted at him.
“I’m serious,” I said. “Are you?”
He was quiet for a moment, then looked at me, all joking set aside.
“Will you tell me what you want?” he asked, his eyes tired and pleading. “So I don’t fuck this up again? I’m running out of chances here.”
I smiled and touched his cheek. He nuzzled his face into my palm.
“I just want you,” I said plainly, feeling my heart dance a bit at the simple acknowledgment. A weight I’d been carrying for the last several weeks lifted as I finally admitted the truth. “I want to know whoyouare. What bothers you. What entertains you. What you hate. What you love. And I want you to learn those things about me by earning my trust, not by spying on me or having some weirdo research my family and me.”
“I wasn’t spying,” Brandon objected lamely. “I just made a couple of calls. The sale of a house is public record. Even I have limits, you know.”
I just folded my arms and stared at him. “You follow me or not, Sterling?”
Brandon stared back. Just when I was about to slide away, he nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I can do that.”
He pushed off the wall and took my hand, leading me through the lounge and up the stairs to the lobby, where he turned to me again.
“Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?”
I pursed my lips. “I think that could be possible.”
“Friday? I have to go out of town on Saturday, and I’ll be gone for a week. I don’t want to wait until I get back.”
Friday.Shit. I’d already agreed to a date with Jared. Whose lips felt like rubber, hands like wooden tongs.
“Sure,” I said. “I can do that.”
Brandon exhaled with relief, then kissed me lightly, this time only on the cheek.
“Eight o’clock, then. I’ll pick you up here,” he said and turned to leave.
I watched him walk out to the street, and it wasn’t until he was about to duck into the Mercedes that I remembered something.
“Wait! Brandon!” I called as I pushed open the glass door.
He turned, alarmed.
“Your, um, present. You left it downstairs. I’ll run and grab it for you.”
Brandon shrugged and waved my offer away. “Keep it. Sell it and pay your rent if you want, or leave it for someone else to find. You were right about it anyway.”
Was he serious? He wanted me to forget about a gift that likely cost thousands of dollars?
“Red,” he called softly. I refocused on him.
“The next time I give you a gift, you can bet it’ll be foryou,” he said. “I’d prefer it if that’s the first one you get.”
And with that, he slid into the car, leaving me to wonder what kind of gift that special might be in my future.
Eighteen
On Wednesday, I arrived at the FLS offices with an extra bounce in my step that I tried to tell myself was because I had a check for twenty-eight thousand dollars to donate and not because my second “first real date” with Brandon was in two days.
