Page 16 of Someone Like You

She eyed me knowingly as she handed me my things and whispered, “You’re so fucking into him. Don’t worry, I’ll let him know.” She gave me an evil smile, although I’m sure that’s just how every smile of hers looked.

“I will cut your wrinkled little heart from your chest if you say a single fucking word, you gum-popping muppet!” I hissed at her.

I turned around when her gleeful cackles became too much and almost ran right into Brody’s chest. I stopped short just in time, but he’d taken a step back when he realized I didn’t know he was there and god that made me appreciate him. He really was trying not to touch me, and something warm and gushy flooded my entire system. And suddenly, I felt nervous. Or shy, or apprehensive, or a weird combination of those feelings, and I hated it. I stared at his chest and asked him, “So what time doyou want to meet on…” Today was Saturday, but did he really want to start today? Fuck, I needed some time to wrap my head around this. “Wednesday,” I finished.

“Is five okay? I have work and I’m not usually off ’til four thirty.”

“Yeah. Yep. That works. Okay, I’ll see you on Wednesday,” I said. I had to stop myself from reaching out and touching him when he was right there, when his exotic, spicy scent was filling my nose and all that tan skin littered with tattoos was on display. He leaned down, catching my eyes with his, his face too close now. Not close enough. I could see a tiny patch of freckles that ran across the bridge of his nose and I wanted to lick that endearing little line of dots.

“Do you know where we’re meeting?” he said, his lips quirking.

“Right,” I said. We hadn’t discussed that.

“I have the basement to myself. At the house,” he said.

That was dangerous. And I must’ve loved how dangerous that was, I must be a masochist, because I said, “That’s—good. Okay. Bye now.”

His quiet laughter trailed after me as I left the shop. It rattled around in my brain when I got into my car, and as I drove away, I wished I could take my mind to get repaired, because that clinking sounded ominous, and I wanted so badly to make it stop.

5

BRODY

Iwatched Isaac get into his car as regret, relief, and lust warred within me.

That little blond pixie was going to be the death of me. From the first moment I laid eyes on him, I wanted him. I felt like I had to have him, like something invisible was drawing me toward him. And every moment after that, the need kept growing, kept building, kept gnawing at me relentlessly.

He’d pulled me back from the ledge that day, when the vending machine had decided to push my drink half out and then give up. That had been the last straw for me, the final thread that snapped and I hadn’t been able to control myself anymore. Hadn’t been able to hold back the anger that raged inside me, surging and breaking like waves in a storm.

My father was dead. At first, when Uncle Boone had called me that morning and told me he’d gotten pneumonia in the prison he’d been at for sixteen years and just…succumbed, I’d felt nothing. Just empty. But slowly, as the day went on, that emptiness began to fill with a dangerous energy, violent and consuming. Because he’d fucking left us—again. And even though I’d never wanted him in my life, not after what he’d done,and maybe even before that, I still couldn’t deny that his death had dredged up a powerful array of nasty emotions. All day I was thrumming with a furious energy that I should have dealt with alone. At home. I’d wanted to fight someone or fuck someone and knew I couldn’t do either because I’d probably lose control.

And I had lost control, when my fucking Coke got stuck. It was like I was heading down a dark tunnel, shadows closing in, and then—then…

Him. Isaac. He’d just…been there, like a fucking angel, one small arm outstretched with crumpled dollar bills and a kind expression on his beautiful face. Blond hair slightly mussed, like he’d been running his fingers through it, tugging at it. Dark green eyes that tilted alluringly at the corners, fringed in long golden lashes. Like sunlight on moss. A pert little nose that was so fucking adorable I’d immediately wanted to kiss it. Dainty, rosy, lips that had a deep cupid’s bow I wanted to dip my tongue into. His gray hoodie was baggy and his jeans weren’t very tight; his choice of such nondescript clothing made it seem like he wanted to fade into the fray, to not draw any attention to himself, but it was too late for him now. He was the only thing I wanted to look at ever again.

And then something had screamed inside me to test his boundaries, push him to the limit. My anger was still there, but it had faded somewhat and morphed into something quietly malicious. I’d hated that, fought against it, because Isaac was so small, and a greater part of me was screaming over the other part, urging me to protect him. Covet him. Never hurt him.

I didn’t want to hurt him. But I had, and I fucking hated myself for it. I hated that it was getting harder and harder to deny that the blood running through my veins was diseased, poisoned by the same blood that had pumped through my father. He’d been a volatile man, unpredictable and vindictive, and after his arrest and subsequent prison sentence for thedistribution of excessive amounts of heroin, I’d taken on many of the same attributes.

I was an angry kid, an angry teen, and then I’d spent my early adult years finding the reins to all that anger and yanking it to a stop. I didn’t want to be like that. I’d never wanted to be like that. I’d worked hard to turn myself around and give myself a chance at a life I could be proud of.

Most days, the past stayed behind me. But the death of my dad had dug up all those long-forgotten feelings and it had taken me a few days to set myself to rights again.

I hadn’t wanted to hurt Isaac. It made me sick to my stomach that I’d caused him any pain at all.

I’d been so desperate to stop him from leaving the shop that day, hadn’t understood what it really meant to him to have his wishes disregarded, and I’d grabbed him. I wish I could go back and yank my hand away before the moment of contact, because it had caused him to sink deep into himself. I knew, right then, he’d had something terrible done to him. Something he was reliving. He was traumatized, and I’d fucking triggered him.

I knew he had demons, I’d seen it in his eyes on the night of Jamie’s party. So when he lost control of himself at the shop because of me, I did the only thing I felt I could—I tried to soothe him. Calm him down. Bring him back. It seemed like it worked. And I’d promised myself I would never touch him again, not until he asked me to.

And I was going to do everything I could to get him to beg me to touch him.

“He likes you.”

I looked up at Bri, who was staring at her phone and typing something out. “Who?”

“Your little fun-sized pixie.”

I huffed and kept filling out the completion form. It always took me way too long because of my dyslexia, but I was persistent and stubborn. Bri always offered to do them and I always turned her down. “Pretty sure he hates my guts.”

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