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“Not tonight,” he tells me, shaking his head, and that’s when I take a closer look at the pleading in his face. He has tension lines around his eyes, shadows underneath them, and his shoulders curl in as he slouches forward. I feel slightly alarmed, and then he says, “Please.”
While I’ve concluded that I don’t really think he has something acutely wrong with him, there must be something big enough for him to come here and ask for this. And he used the word please. We both know this is out of character for him. Meanwhile, my character is flaring again to do the right thing. Clearly, he needs someone tonight, but I’m curious as to how he decided on me.
“Fine, but don’t get any ideas.” I look him straight in the eye. “I always wondered what it would be like to take a stray in.” Turning my back to him, I make my way across the room.
Behind me, I hear the door shut, lock, and his footsteps as he follows me.
“Goldie, trust me, I have zero ideas or thoughts tonight.”
Then what is this? He just had a wild idea when he decided he needed to come over here for a sleepover? Who does that? Who just shows up at someone’s house and demands a sleepover?
“You do realize tomorrow you’re going to hate yourself for this,” I toss over my shoulder. He doesn’t answer, and my stomach dips with concern. “Can I get you anything?” I ask him, stalling at the bottom of the stairs.
“Some painkillers and a water?” he asks, his gaze wandering over my face. And then he does the oddest thing—he reaches up and rubs a piece of my hair that’s fallen from the messy ponytail through his fingers, then tucks it behind my ear.
I stare at him as he stares at me, the awkward tension at this moment growing, and then he blinks, breaking the spell.
“Sure,” I tell him.
“Thanks,” he says, moving past me to trudge up the stairs.
What in the world happened to him tonight? And what in the world has possessed him to come here? Was he nice to me last weekend? Yes. But that doesn’t actually mean we’re friends. If one is to stack up all our interactions together and rate them, I’d say last weekend was the anomaly. Then again, technically, he wasn’t rude to me the day the girls were at the cider house eating his donuts.
Ugh. Confusing. Contradictory. Man.
Back in my room, I find him sitting on the opposite side of the bed from my phone charger staring out the window. During the day, you can see the lake clearly. It’s a nice view, but maybe not as nice as the view before me now.
Briggs is shirtless and pantless—his clothes draped over a chair I have in the corner—and I can’t help but let my eyes briefly wander over the long smooth lines of his muscles as he sits in just a pair of boxer briefs. He really is a handsome man. Only at this moment, he just looks miserable.
Miserable and annoyed.
“Here,” I blurt, moving to stand in front of him, where I hold out the glass and the medicine.
“Thanks,” he mumbles as he takes them from me. He swallows the pills and the whole glass of water, then hands me back the glass. Rolling my eyes, I place it on the nightstand on his side of the bed.
Walking off, I move around to what I guess will be my side of the bed and climb in.
Both of us settle in as I turn the light off, the only noise being that of the still night and the ceiling fan.
Briggs Warren is in my bed.
I never let people sleep in my bed.
Somewhere, somehow, pigs must be flying.
Briggs lets out another sigh and runs his hand over his face. I wouldn’t say his body is tense, but it’s definitely something.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“No,” he grumbles.
Is it wrong for me to think he should at least be telling me something? The way he was dressed, my mind runs wild. Did someone die? Did he gamble away all of his money and have to go meet with a lawyer? Was he out on a date that turned terrible? Just thinking about all of the things that might have happened to him cause my anxiety to slowly creep up.
“Are you okay?” I ask, unable to help myself.
Rolling to his side to face me, he stretches the arm underneath him across the bed until his hand brushes my shoulder. But instead of moving it, he leaves it there and exhales the words, “I am now.”
What does this mean?
