by Casey Diam
Then Brandon’s phone rang, causing her to jump.
The obnoxious tone continued as he tried to retrieve it without pulling away from her, and then there was sweet silence once again. The call might have been a follow up to a text message, as she’d felt a vibration moments before they started kissing.
Another ring chimed.
“Seriously, whoever this is, I hate them.” Brandon pulled the phone from his pocket. He looked at the screen and his eyes narrowed. “Andrew.” He hit ignore and pocketed his phone again. “Mmm, where were we?”
He slid his hand to her nape, and his mouth found hers. A few glorious, heated kisses later, his phone vibrated—signaling a voicemail, she assumed.
Then she remembered his mother was in the hospital and frowned. “Maybe it’s important.”
“What could possibly be more important than those lips on mine?” he teased.
Before she could think of a smart comeback, the obnoxious tone bellowed again.
He sighed and answered, “Andrew, this better be good.”
As she tried to push herself away from the magnetic pull of his body to give him privacy, he pulled her against him, crumbling her walls just a little bit more.
“With traffic? Almost an hour. Why? What’s up?”
His body tensed, and that was her first cue that their night had come to an end. She rubbed her hand over his chest to soothe him, but the muscles beneath her fingers bunched tighter.
“What? Are you fucking with me?”
She’d never heard that tone from him.
Moving away from the vehicle, he eased her from his body, shoved the phone in his pocket, and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” Jordan asked, feeling panicked. Was it about his mother? But wouldn’t his dad have called?
“My friend needs me. I have to go.” He stood frozen, seeming dazed before side-stepping around her to walk across the front of the car. He slammed the door shut and drove off.
What the hell? Perplexed by his sudden coldness, she hugged herself and walked up the stairs to the loneliness she should have gotten used to by now. Everything would go back to normal after he saw that his friend was okay. She didn’t know when he’d become her normal, but she liked him, and he liked her. He’d even asked her to be his girlfriend . . . That couldn’t be a part of his game.
Incapable of removing Brandon from her mind, Jordan tossed and turned in bed. The first part of the night, she fantasized about him in her bed, laughing and making love. The second part of the night, she was miserable, checking her phone every few minutes to make sure she didn’t miss a call or text from him in case he needed her. When it hit three in the morning, it was clear—Brandon wouldn’t be needing her.
She couldn’t take it. She would go on social media if she had to, but it was time she figured out who Brandon Kuvat really was.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to look very far.
As he drove to the hospital, Brandon had a sinking feeling that his best night in a long time was about to turn into his worst night in an even longer time. When he entered the building, he found Andrew, James, and Damian’s father, mother, and sisters in the waiting room.
Damian’s cousin James took him aside to explain everything. “We were at Helium nightclub for his promo appearance after that bodybuilding award he won,” he began, and Brandon nodded. He was supposed to be there, and he should have been there, not out with Jordan.
“Out of nowhere, we heard shots fired. Damian wasn’t around when everyone exited the club. I searched for him, calling his phone, but I couldn’t find him.” A tear ran down James’s cheek as his chin trembled.
Andrew came over and stood next to him, eyes red and face pink.
“Eight people were injured and two died,” Andrew continued as James dragged a hand over his face. “Someone said they saw Damian trying to stop the shooter when he was shot—two times. Not just once; then he could’ve still been alive.”
“Fuck,” Brandon said under his breath. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t. But if anyone would jump in front of a bullet, it would be Damian. “Can I see him?”
“They’re preparing the body for viewing, but only his family can go in,” Andrew said, his lips trembling.
Shit, Brandon thought. He wasn’t good with emotions, but he hugged his best friend anyway.
Pacing the room, he ran his fingers through his hair for hours, and he pulled a few strings so he was finally able to go back to see Damian—or what used to be Damian.
It was time to say goodbye to the guy who’d been more like a brother to him for most of his life. Feeling empty and lost, he looked at his friend’s body, waiting for his emotions to show up. But nothing. They never did at the right moment, ever since Hailey. He was dead inside, and all his mind clung to was the peaceful expression on Damian’s face.
Brandon drove Andrew home and stepped inside his friend’s familiar condo. Here he, Damian, and Andrew had shared plenty of good times. The big, black leather sofa was the first thing that came into view, followed by the blue area rug. Another reminder of the drunken nights spent with the boys stood at the far-right end of the living room: Andrew’s girlfriend’s dancing pole.
Andrew went to the refrigerator and grabbed them both a beer. And while he watched Andrew process the mournful event, Brandon felt like the heartless bastard he’d been called many times.
“Where’s Sarah?” Brandon asked, nursing his beer.
“She’s at her mother’s. I haven’t told her yet,” Andrew said before chugging his beer.
That surprised Brandon; Andrew told his girlfriend everything.
Brandon left Andrew’s place after he’d called Sarah, because the best way to cope with his feelings was not with friends and family, but by himself, where he could ignore them. Which was what he did.
The next few days he worked fifteen hours a day, instructing his assistant to fill his calendar with back-to-back meetings. He even showed up at community events to represent Sky Fast and helped the maintenance staff work on aircrafts.
His property manager sent him detailed reports on his properties in different regions, and his real estate assets manager sent him new investment opportunities. And if nothing was scheduled for him, he used the time to enforce affairs that he’d been too lax on as of late, and anyone not on their A-game then appeared on his calendar for a one-on-one. It was a win-win. His companies were improving under his undivided attention, and he was so tired he couldn’t think straight by the end of the day.
But Jordan hadn’t missed a beat. She had been texting him.
Day 1
Jordan: Is everything okay?
Day 2
Missed call from Jordan.
Day 2
Jordan: Please, Brandon. We need to talk.
He didn’t respond to her. Didn’t know what to say to her. Couldn’t figure out what he felt for her, or where she would fit into his life. He liked her, but it was a phase. It would pass like the others. They just needed some time apart.
So, fully engrossed in his new routine, he continued to ignore her. Bed at midnight. Gym at five—in the a.m. and the p.m. And if he had more energy to disperse, he ran or kickboxed, focusing on thoughts that kept his body strong and mind sharp, erasing things from his memory he didn’t want to think about—except Jordan. He couldn’t for the life of him get her out of his head.
That might have had something to do with the text message Damian had sent him, giving him an extra push to go see Jordan the night he was killed, which saved him from what could have been an unforeseen fate. For a moment, feeling way too exposed and vulnerable with his armor slowly receding, Brandon had considered canceling on Jordan that night. Instead he’d showed up, asking her to be his.
As he lay in his bed in the dark, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and scrolled through his last messages with Damian.
Brandon: What time are you guys going to be at the club? I might
just come there instead. I don’t know if I want to do this Jordan thing.
Damian: Don’t be an idiot. At least give it a try, dude. That’s all you can do. Be with her. She’s good for you. You need a change of scenery.
Damian: Oh, I need to talk to you though, for real, because you jinxed me, fucker. Now we may be heading down the same path.
Brandon didn’t know what Damian had needed to talk about, but it sounded interesting. What path was he heading down that Damian had also been on?
Regardless, as Jordan came to his mind again, his thinking began to shift.
Since their previous dates had been great, it was possible she could make him feel something, anything. He couldn’t continue like this. It was too fucking depressing.
Five days later, he asked her to dinner.
That evening, he had to say, the most refreshing thing about Jordan right now was the fact that she wasn’t on social media to see all the drama. Being around genuine feelings, untouched by his social status, should have been much more appreciated, considering how he had to work for it. But all good things must come to an end.
He felt it before it happened; the rest of the world came tumbling around him because deep down, he knew he’d fucked up with her.
She sat in front of him in a teal-colored dress, hair down like he’d told her he liked it. But something was different, something more than the callous sensation suspended between them, something unsaid words and withheld apologies couldn’t pacify.
Alcohol, on the other hand, could be his savior, but the waitress was taking her sweet time. Sinking further into the depths of his thoughts, he pretended to search his menu, but nothing on the menu interested him.
“Beautiful weather today,” Jordan said, breaking the silence.
“It was,” he commented, still staring at the useless menu.
What he wanted wasn’t on the menu, but around the table from him sitting on a chair. And knowing that, he couldn’t look at her. He was disappointed in himself for the way he’d treated her. He should have texted her and not waited a week to call her for a last-minute dinner. Even her stare tonight was different. This gaze said she saw right through him. He didn’t have to lift his eyes from the menu to know her honey ones were assessing him.
“Brandon?” she asked in a soft voice.
He lifted his head, then moved his attention to the waitress, who stopped by the table with wine, pouring the damn glasses as slowly as her steps had been to retrieve it. He zoned in on the waitress’s orange-painted nails as she fidgeted with her pen before dropping it. After a quick apology, she took their order.
She was so perky as she scribbled her last notes, and her dark ponytail swung behind her neck. “Enjoy your wine. It seems I have everything to get you started.”
“Are you sure you have everything?” Brandon asked with a cunning smirk, before he realized what he was doing.
“Yes,” she affirmed, cheeks flushing as she took their menus. “Thank you.” She smiled at him a second too long.
He was tempted to say more but glanced back to Jordan, who was dissecting his every move. He was a dick for doing that, but it was a reminder to both himself and Jordan: she deserved better.
“You look beautiful tonight.” He took a drink from his glass.
“Thank you,” Jordan responded, looking down and adjusting the napkin in her lap for the third time.
“Are you mad at me? Sorry, don’t answer that.”
“More confused than angry,” she said. “But if anything, I’m more upset with myself. I’m the one who decided to give you a chance.” She sighed. “Anyway, it would have been helpful to at least call out of common courtesy, after claiming you wanted to be with me and all. But I knew it wasn’t what you wanted, so it’s whatever.”
“I’m sorry” was all he said, despite wanting to tell her she was wrong. He did want to be with her.
Nevertheless, except for a few irrelevant comments about current events, they ate in silence. Neither of them really touched their food. It wasn’t until they’d finished dessert that he said, “One of my best friends died.”
Eyes wide, she stared at him until he continued.
“It was that night I left your place. There was a shooting at the club.”
“I’m sorry.” She took a sip of water. “Was it any of the guys I’d met?”
He watched her swallow and nodded. “Damian. The one who was flirting with your friend at the party.” His eyes dropped to the table. Fuck, he wasn’t ready to come to terms with it.
“I’m not good at consoling, but I’m here if you need to talk.” She half smiled, and when she brushed her fingers through her hair, he watched it fall back over her shoulders.
Distance stretched even further between them as they ended the night with a polite hug outside the restaurant. Jordan then got into her car and drove away.
What am I doing? This couldn’t be the end of him and her. He needed her. Seeing her in person had given him a hint of respite, and he wanted more. But as he waited for the valet to bring his car around, he decided to drive to his office instead.
After a few restless hours of trying to work off his need to see her, to be with her, he gave in and called her. She didn’t pick up.
He called again but still no answer.
So after a forty-minute drive across the city, he found himself knocking on her door.
“Jordan?”
She opened the door in a robe, and his thoughts deviated to what she was wearing beneath.
“There’s a reason I didn’t answer my phone, Brandon.”
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
She leaned one shoulder against the door frame, holding the door to keep it from swinging open. “Because . . . I want to be alone.”
“I thought you said you’re here if I needed to talk.”
“Are you here to talk?”
Not able to bring himself to it, he stared into her unsmiling eyes and shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “No.”
“Okay, well, what do you want?”
“You’re shutting me out . . . more than usual. I’m sorry I didn’t call you after what happened. I just—I was confused. I . . .” He inhaled. It hurt to see the pained look on her face. He’d done that to her. “I still want this to work if you do.”
“It’s not about that, and I should have mentioned this earlier—I tried to get in touch with you all week, then I couldn’t find the right time during dinner. I’ll just say it now, though, because it’s midnight, and I don’t want things to drag on longer than they have to.” She sighed. “I don’t like to be misled or lied to. If you don’t want to admit it to yourself, admit it to me. You’re not that guy—the one who can be with one girl. And I’m not that girl—the one who can be happy with a guy like you. You left your Facebook logged in on my phone the night of the Video Music Awards. I hope why we can’t do this makes more sense now.”
Jordan shook her head and snorted when all he managed was “Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck,” she mimicked, folding her arms across her chest. “And don’t worry, I didn’t read the millions of messages in your inbox. But I did see some of the comments on your page—enough to make me realize what a complete idiot I’ve been, and how freaking good you are at acting. Now, I need to go to bed. So, if you’re trying to put on another show, go find a girl who’s interested in competing for your attention and falling for all your other bullshit.
“Oh, you know what? Actually, maybe the waitress at the restaurant would be a great start. Or I don’t know, Belle with the big boobs whom you agreed to meet up with a few days ago on your Facebook page. How was that, by the way? Did you have fun? Did you have a good time with her?”
Fucking shit.
This was not what he’d expected, and he couldn’t talk his way out of it. He had posted all those things. But it was harmless flirting. He wasn’t planning to follow through on any of it.<
br />
She stepped back to close the door, but he stopped her. “It’s not like that, Jordan. Please.”
Her head jerked. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare lie to me again. I understand you’re going through some things, and I’m sorry I have to say this right now, but—”
“So don’t say it. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole, okay?” He stepped closer, but left enough space between them so she wouldn’t feel unguarded. “You’ve been so sincere with me; it kills me that I was an asshole to you. But everything I’ve told you was the truth. I do want you. I also have no idea what I’m doing. I haven’t been in a relationship for a while, and you know that. But it’s still no excuse. You were right. We should have kept things as friends. We weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready. But I couldn’t control it. It’s like I need to have you.
“And since we both know I’m that guy, I’m going to stop pursuing you, because I like you, but I also don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. As a wealthy guy, since you probably figured that out too, women chase me whether or not I’m interested. So yes, I do flirt—probably more than I should. But a majority of the time, Jordan, it’s just harmless, meaningless. There wasn’t one moment since I’ve met you that I considered being with any of them.”
The chill of her icy stare bristled the hair on his neck, but he continued with the truth in hopes of not losing her completely. “Tonight I just wanted company. Anyway, I hope it’s not too late to salvage our friendship, because I like you, and I like hanging out with you. And for the record, this wasn’t a show. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Have a good night, Jordan.”
