Page 57 of Hate to Love You

Go fuck yourself?

I’m partial to the latter. But for now, I’ll hold my tongue.

Brody glances my way. “Anything interesting?”

My jaw tightens until it feels like it might shatter. I set the phone facedown on the couch next to me, refusing to text my father back. “Nope.”

He raises a brow. “Your pinched expression says otherwise. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were constipated. Normally, I’m the only one who makes you look like that. I feel a little jealous over here.” He scratches his chin thoughtfully. “You’re not two-timing me with another fake boyfriend, are you?”

Those ridiculous comments dissolve the tension that had bubbled up inside me like a geyser. Even though I don’t want to encourage him, the corners of my lips twitch. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the only one capable of giving me that strained expression.”

“Hmmm. Guess I’m going to have to step up my game. I thought we had something special between us.”

Good Lord, I don’t think I could handle that. I lay my hand on his forearm, which is—I might add—just as muscular as his thigh. Sheesh. Does this guy have a body part that isn’t hard as steel? I almost choke as that thought flits through my head. I definitely don’t want to think along those lines.

Our gazes catch, and I rip my hand away as if I’ve been burned. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

When I say nothing more on the topic, he nudges my shoulder with his broader one. “Who was the text from? His eyes narrow and his voice hardens. “It wasn’t Reed, was it?”

I shake my head. “It was my dad.”

His voice softens. “Have you spoken to him since the restaurant?”

“Nope.” It’s easier to stare at the television than meet Brody’s inquisitive gaze. It’s weird to have this conversation with him. The other night he caught me at a weak moment after the restaurant incident. My defenses were down. I normally wouldn’t share such personal information with someone I barely know. I don’t even talk about the divorce with Zara, and she’s my best friend. She’s the one who was there to pick up the pieces when my dad blew our lives to smithereens.

My belly prickles. I hope my one-word answer will be enough to shut down any further questions.

“So, what are you going to do about the situation?”

I should have known better. Brody’s not much into taking social cues. The guy does what he wants when he wants.

Uncomfortable with the direction of our conversation, I shift next to him. After a few silent moments, my gaze meanders back to his. The sincere interest in his eyes takes me by surprise. I’m not used to seeing that from him. What I’m used to is his merciless teasing and me sniping back. I’m used to us being on opposite sides of a fight.

This kind of behavior—even though I’ve seen more of it lately—knocks me off-kilter. I’m not sure what to make of it. I never expected him to defend me against Reed. Or try to make me feel better by taking me skating. I don’t know if I’m ready for a shift of this magnitude in our relationship. Or to change my narrative about him. I’ve had Brody pegged from day one of our freshman business class three years ago, and nothing since has changed my opinion of him.

He’s a conceited, womanizing, attention-whore who’s biding his time at Whitmore until he moves on to bigger and better things. But the Brody I’ve caught glimpses of this week isn’t like that at all.

The words spill from my lips before I can rein them back in. “I don’t plan on doing anything. He’s the one who walked out and left us. And now he’s moving on with the woman who wrecked their marriage.” Fury rushes through my veins like molten lava.

“Don’t you miss him?”

I lay my head against the back of the couch so I can gaze up at the ceiling because I don’t want to continue holding his eyes. The conversation we’re having feels too intense. We’re barely friends.

“I miss the way we used to be when we were all together.” I think about how Dad was dressed at the restaurant, trying to act like something he’s not. Hip and cool and young. “The guy I met a couple of days ago, I don’t know him.” The one who ditched my mom and has taken up with someone who isn’t that much older than I am.

“Maybe you need to tell him that. Get it all off your chest so you can move forward.”

I shrug, wishing I didn’t care as much as I do. “I don’t even know what more I would say.”

“Any dialogue is better than none,” he says quietly.

“It’s complicated, Brody.” I turn my head so our eyes can meet. A little zip of energy sizzles in the air between us.

He nods. “Family usually is.”

“Yeah.” What sucks is that it never used to be.

He slips his arm around my shoulders and hauls me close, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. My body stiffens. Like the conversation we’re having, this is unchartered territory for us. I’m not sure what to make of it or how to react.

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