Page 51 of Until We're More
Residual butterflies rose. It was such a beautiful, lovely statement. But he hadn’t meant it in the way I wanted him to.
Which meant if I didn’t want to end up lonely—and I mean in the spinster, sex-deprived way—I was going to have to do more to ensure that I didn’t.
Even if it took some work and some fake-it-till-you-make-it enthusiasm.
…
Liam wasn’t kidding when he said that he wouldn’t be around. We’d said a few hellos and goodbyes as we passed each other. A couple nights he’d come home super late, flopped onto the couch next to me as I was watching TV, and then promptly fell asleep.
For once, we were better in text form. He asked about my job; I requested updates on Finn, his other fighters, and his new one.
We lived together, yet all our interactions had this wall of caution in the way, and it was my fault, and I freaking hated it.
On Thursday afternoon, I knocked on the door to Brooklyn and Shane’s apartment. Brooklyn answered and gave me a big grin. “Hey! I’m so ready for tonight. The guys have been talking nonstop about the fight, and I’m excited, too, but I need someone who can talk about something else.”
“Well, I’m your girl.”
“Thank goodness. Oh, and I also figured we’d have an Avengers marathon so we can ogle away without the guys’ added judgment.”
“And this is why I love you.”
“Right back at you.”
As Brooklyn ordered a pizza, I circled her apartment, studying the paintings she’d hung around the room. “Wow, these are amazing.” She was crazy skilled at capturing emotion, pouring it into her art, and evoking a visceral response. Funny, since her brother was so incapable of expressing emotion.
Or maybe he simply softens his to avoid hurting my feelings.
Good thing I’m not thinking about him today.
I gestured at the painting on the wall—the paint dripped down the canvas, over what looked like pages from a book. “I just have to ask—”
“No books were harmed in the making of the painting,” she said with a laugh. “It’s more like I’m giving them new life. They’re from used bookstores or places that were going to trash the books, and I usually end up reading them first so I can choose which pages match up with the emotion I’m going for.”
“I guess I’ll forgive you for dismembering them, then. This one…” A girl’s face was painted over the pasted-on, whitewashed pages. She wore a contemplative look, her chin on her fist. “I feel like… Man, it makes me sad and happy for her at the same time, and I’m not sure which I feel more, but something about it just speaks to me.”
Pride beamed through Brooklyn’s features, and she placed a hand over her chest. “Thank you. My goal is always to evoke emotion. To me, this is that moment right before a big decision, or after one you’ve made and can’t decide if you regret it. A sort oftorn between two thingsfeeling.”
“I totally get that.”
“And you also feel like that?”
I thought about downplaying or trying to bullshit my way through an answer, but I’d never been good at that, and if anyone would understand, it’d be Brooklyn. “I don’t want to mess up my friendship with Liam, but I also feel like…” How did I even put it into words?
“Like there might be more.”
My pulse beat through my entire body, every thump so prominent. “Yes.” There. I’d admitted it aloud, although I didn’t think Brooklyn was shocked by any means. “But Liam’s always been there for me, and we have this easy thing, only it suddenly feels strained, and I’m worried it’s because I got a wee bit drunk and asked him if he’d ever thought about his face.”
Her lips pressed together as she fought back a laugh. “And what did he say?”
“That he doesn’t really think about it, since he sees it every day. And then I…” I winced. “I said that I see it every day, and it still affects me.”
That did surprise her; I could tell by her widened eyes. She leaned in, worry and excitement radiating off her. “And what did he say to that?”
“He told me I was drunk, which I was, then he took me home, tucked me into bed, and basically shut it down hard. I can’t remember everything we talked about, but there was a forehead kiss.”
“Forehead kisses can be hot.”
“This was a friends one, I could tell. And I want more than forehead kisses.” I flopped down on her couch. “There. I said it. I want more, and it terrifies me. And like that girl in the painting, I can’t decide whether to push the boundaries and hope I don’t ruin everything or to just hold on to our friendship and thank my lucky stars that I have it, because it truly is one of the best things in my life.”
