by Kat Pace
Brooks raises his glass.
“Cheers,” he pauses. I raise my eyes brow. “To friends visiting friends.”
“Without invitation.” I laugh and raise my glass to his.
“Good, isn’t it?” He asks, lowering his glass.
“Yes. I don’t normally like wine.” This is true, but this wine is also good. Should be, considering it costs about $300.
“You can’t have had decent wine.” Brooks smiles.
“I can’t have had $300 wine,” I smirk.
I lean in to the table and put my glass down. His hand twitches slightly on the table and for a moment I think he may take mine. But he doesn’t. Instead his smile flickers across his face just like the flame from the candle.
“So, are you going to tell me why we’re here?” I ask him, finally. “This all seems very fancy.”
“And we can’t do fancy?” He asks, his voice almost accusatory.
“It’s just not really us.” I say, pulling my glass to my lips again.
“It could be us,” he answers.
So this is what this is? A show of what it could be like to date him? Did he think fancy nights out and expensive bottles of wine would work on me? I open my mouth to argue, but he stops me short.
“It’s not like that,” he says, almost reading my mind. “Think of it like three weeks' worth of dates in one. Since we never went out over the summer.”
“We went out, we did stuff.” I argue.
It’s true; we never went on a date just the two of us –unless we were sneaking off somewhere to bang. V high school of us.
“Not like this,” he shakes his head. He’s right.
“Ok. Then if this is three weeks' worth of dates, you really should have sprang for the limo.”
Brooks laughs into his wine glass and uses his linen to mop up his face.
“Next time, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’re already thinking of a next time?” I tease.
“Figure of speech. You know what I mean.” He shrugs it off.
I do. I do know. But I also don’t. I don’t know what we are doing or what he expects from this. From us. We are supposed to be equally invested in keeping this what it is. Someone needs to break first. One of us needs to be stronger.
It’s going to need to be me.
The waiter brought out our meals in a remarkably fast time. Ridiculously gourmet entrees with fancy herbs and other words I can’t even pronounce. The wine. The food. The revelry. The music and ambiance of luxury. It was all intoxicating. Maybe he was worst of all. He got to me like a drug. I don’t think I could live without it again. I need to be the stronger one.
Dinner conversation. You got this, Em.
“So how did Edge happen?” I ask. Seriously.
“What? Wondering how a lax bro starts an athletic apparel line?” He laughs.
“Mhmm. You read my mind,” I say, bringing my glass to my lips.
“It started as a senior year project. Some guys on the team would always complain about shirts or shorts or whatever could be better. We got this local place to make a few things. Then we started sharing with the baseball team and swim teams, girls volleyball,” Brooks says, listing teams on his fingers. “Then we had the idea to actually sell them. Got picked up at the collegiate level.”
“But how’d you end up running it?” I ask.
“None of the other guys wanted anything to do with the business part of it,” he says, shrugging. “So I did the paperwork and funded what I needed to. Now it’s sort of picking up.”
“I’d say.” I roll my eyes. “You know, I have one of your tank tops. Course I didn’t know it was yours when I bought it. Unhappy accident.”
Brooks tilts his head back to laugh. “And, is it your favorite shirt?”
“It’s OK,” I laugh. “So what’s this weekend?”
“We are launching a pop up in LA. The team picked the city.” He says, rolling his eyes.
“What’s wrong with LA?” I ask.
“Nothing, but it’s just so…”
“West coast?” I finish for him.
“Yes.” He looks at me, like he gets it. I get it. It’s how I feel sometimes. Just an east-coaster living on the west side.
“It kinda grows on you, ya know. The west coast isn’t so bad.” I laugh.
“Yes, not so bad.” He agrees. His inflection slays.
His eyes are deep pools, oceans, really, luring me into their depths. To my death.
“How did you end up with a yoga studio?” He asks me. “I don’t remember you doing yoga.”
“No, I know.” I bring my glass to my mouth again and try to hide behind it. “I decided to stay here after school. I sort of picked it up as a hobby.”
“How’s a hobby turn into a studio?” He asks, refilling our glasses.
“We were all about the vibe. Joked around with Zoë about starting our own studio. One that wasn’t so health and wellness in your face.”
“But you are about health and wellness,” Brooks says, laughing.
“Yes, but we’re much more laidback. I mean, we basically let anyone in our studio.” I say, smirking.
“You should really stop that,” he says, nodding. “Riffraff won’t do ya any good.”
“Don’t I know it,” I smirk.
Our $30 soup arrives. We break in conversation long enough to spoon a few mouthfuls. It’s hard to stop talking once we start. I’ve noticed this lately.
“So don’t you miss your parents?” He asks.
“Course. But it’s not like I don’t see them,” I say, shrugging my spoon. “Don’t you miss yours?”
“My mom, course. My dad, not so much.” Brooks shrugs, drinking more wine.
“You guys really aren’t getting along, huh?” I ask. Something tells me it’s OK to.
“It’s whatever. I don’t know if it’s easier or worse now that he’s in Florida.” Brooks puts his spoon down.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t have to see him every day now. And that makes it better. But then, I don’t see him. And that’s hard, maybe?” He asks me, like I should know.
“I get it.” I nod. I think I do. “How does Brody feel about all of it?”
“Well, you know him. The golden child. He’s sort of Switzerland.” Brooks tells me.
“Switzerland,” I repeat with a nod. “So he’s on the fence.”
Brooks laughs. “You could say that. Brody likes to see the good in him still, but even Brody can’t deny my dad is well …a bit of a dick.” Brooks sighs, looking at me.
“A dick?” I almost laugh. “I don’t really remember him very much.”
“It’s been a while. He’s a big dick now,” Brooks laughs back.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I smirk, bringing my glass to my lips.
Two hours and another bottle of wine later I prove I’m not the stronger one. One look at his wistfully adorable smile and I agree to check out his hotel. It’s only one block away, so we can walk. A happy solution to the lack of limo. He puts my coat on me as we pass through the glass doors and into the night.
It’s much colder than I remember going into Corbel Finn, but still the wine has made me forget what cold feels like. We walk along the footpath that wraps around the small harbor of downtown. Being near the water reminds me of our time this summer –our time at the pier and the ocean. It feels like a lifetime ago.
The person who tried on 18 outfits feels like a stranger to me now. Still, I respect her because you know the power of an outfit. But I don’t know her. The worry and the nerves she felt –they don’t feel real to me anymore. Only he does.
Fuck.
We get back to the Four Seasons and amazingly find our drunken selves to his hotel room.
My dress lies in a crumpled mess on the floor next to his sport jacket.
“Brooks,” I exhale against his neck. My heart is racing, my thighs beginning to ache. I pull myself back. I’m stronger than this. “What a
re we doing?”
“I’m hoping we’re about to…” he trails off.
“I don’t mean right now. I mean this,” I admit. “We’ve tried this before. It doesn’t work with us.” I confess this all out loud to him and to myself too.
“You sure know how to ruin a mood.” Brooks groans.
“Now who’s against having a real moment?” I ask him, forcefully.
“That was actual months ago,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Oh, so now the moment for the moment has passed?” I crease my forehead.
“No.” Brooks opens and then closes his mouth again.
“We never finished our discussion from dinner.”
“Your discussion.” He corrects me. “I was busy trying to not be a part of it.”
His voice hardens. Brooks, a mood swing? No fucking way.
“And I was busy not letting you.” I tell him.
His smell intoxicating me like usual. I didn’t need to bother with the bottle of wine at the restaurant.
“Jay,” I moan against him. That’s right.
“You’re first-naming me now?” He smirks.
“Mhmm.”
Brooks pulls down on my lip with his thumb. He almost pinches it between his fingers. I lean in for his kiss.
He stops.
“And now you’re ruining the moment,” I whisper against his lips.
“I just… We will talk about it. Not today.” He says, but it sounds like he’s asking –waiting for confirmation.
I roll my eyes, but nod. No use arguing about it tonight. Suddenly, his mood shifts again. He’s looking at me with intense eyes.
“Have you had others?” His voice is husky.
“Others?” I ask.
“Others,” he repeats. His eyes widen as he moves his hands down my front. I think of this words from the summer –how he hated the idea of it.
“No. I’m a virgin.” I roll my eyes.
He laughs.
“Since Labor Day? Have you been with others?”
“One or two.” I breathe. I’ve got needs. Y’all remember Trevor.
We agreed this was for fun. Not that it mattered. No guy I could find at the local nightclub was a match for Brooks. And no amount of margaritas could come close to convincing me otherwise. Even if Trevor is a close second.
His thumb is still resting on my lip, stopping me from kissing him. I move my hips into his.
“Fuck.” He responds to my grind. “Don’t be with anyone else.”
“Ever?” I almost laugh.
“’Til Christmas at least.” Brooks brings me closer. He breathes in my neck through my hair. My body excites.
I try to kiss him again but he pulls back.
“Promise.” Brooks insists. His hands glue me to his hips.
GOD. I can feel him so fucking close. This is torture.
I know he intends it to be. Two can play that game. I lift myself to my knees, hovering over his lap. I twist my fingers in his long hair and run my nails to the bottom of his neck. I pull his face into my chest.
Jay fucking Brooks. In Seattle. Naked. Naked with me.
Judge the fuck out of me Moon.
He’s different. Even from the summer. His arms are around me. He moves with my every move. His eyes follow mine and I see something new in their depths. He’s serious. Like, actually serious.
“Yea, yea. Promise.” I say and bite my lip.
He finally moves in.
I lower my hips onto his lap. Our lips find each other again. His tongue traces the inside of my upper lip. I recognize the move as one of my own. I’ve taught him well. Brooks moves my legs around his waist again. They lock behind his back. He pulls me into a hug and pulls me down on top of him. I squeal with the pleasure of it.
The grand entrance that never gets old.
Thanksgiving
7:19 AM
I roll over in the bed and search until my arm finds Brooks. I open my eyes and he’s already staring at me, a half smile on his face.
“Morning.” He kisses my forehead.
“Morning back.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he says.
“That’s right!” I sit up straight.
HOW did I forget Thanksgiving? It’s my favorite holiday. Sure, my parents abandoned me this year, but still. Not mad about my present houseguest.
“So, what Thanksgiving plans am I crashing?” He asks.
“Plans? Crashing, you?” I laugh, pulling the covers over my head. “No plans.”
“No plans?” He laughs back. “No way. I don’t buy it.”
“Really,” I say. “Zoë mentioned stopping by her family’s dinner, but I don’t know them and would rather be alone.”
“Oh yea?” He raises his eyebrows. “Alone?”
“Well,” I say, climbing to my knees on the bed. “Not entirely alone.”
“That’s what I thought.” Brooks smirks.
“We’ll need to make our own plans,” I say.
“Our own plans,” he repeats.
“Our own Thanksgiving.” I say, smirking as I wrap my arms around him.
“I like the sound of that,” he laughs.
“Let’s start…” I trail off, deep in thought. “With coffee?”
Brooks laughs and rolls over to the edge of the bed. “With room service in bed?”
“Oh, I like the sound of that,” I smirk.
Brooks walks to the window and pulls back the curtain to reveal a sunny-overcast day. “Or, how about breakfast outside?”
“I could get behind that. But we need to stop at my apartment first. Can’t eat in this,” I say, holding up my dress from last night’s trip to Corbel Finn.
“You could eat breakfast in that,” Brooks says, laughing. “But fine, we’ll stop at your loft.”
“Thank you,” I smile.
I grab my phone and read the messages lighting up the screen.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER <3
HAPPY TURKEY DAY!!
I text my parents back. It hurts a little to not be with them on Thanksgiving, but I suppose I’m getting used to it. I’ll settle for Brooks. After all, being with him feels just like being back at home, in high school, living at my parents, being kids, and being irresponsible.
Whoever said an outdoor Thanksgiving breakfast picnic was a bad idea? We wit on a Sherpa blanket under the trees in the park, eating vegan granola bars and Greek yogurt cups (stop thinking about John Stamos). The sky is speckled with clouds, dark and gray. But the patches of blue are clear and sunny and perfectly autumn. Deeper than a summer blue sky, ya know?
I have on a blue plaid fleece hanging over my leggings with thigh-high boots. Yes, my leftover curls are in a messy bun. Brooks matches me with black jeans and a gray pullover. His leftover hair is just perfect. It’s all very fall-grunge. We should be in a magazine posing for a casual Thanksgiving photo-shoot.
“I love this Thanksgiving,” Brooks says, stretching back on the blanket.
“It’s not bad,” I smirk.
I lay sideways across him so my back is against his waist. His fingers are running along my collarbones.
“No bad?” He repeats, cocking his eyebrow. “You have a lot to be thankful for.”
“Do I?” I smirk.
“Of course. Coming back for the summer for starters. Pretty lucky,” Brooks laughs.
“You think?”
“Yea,” he says, shrugging. Such a simple yea like I just asked if he was hungry or not.
“And what about you? What are you thankful for?” I roll over his chest and lean up closer to his face. Man, I’m thankful for his lips.
“I am thankful,” he pauses. He tucks a rogue hair behind my ear. “That I didn’t have any other plans.”
“Yes. That was pretty lucky,” I smirk.
Brooks palms my face, blocking my kiss.
