Page 39 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
“If I tell you, will it change whether you eat it?”
Looking at the ingredients I’ve laid out, she shakes her head. “Probably not. But—”
“It doesn’t matter what you call something; it doesn’t change what’s inside. Sometimes it’s better not to put a label on something so you don’t invite any biases.”
“Okay, yeah, you definitely worked in PR. Though, I don’t know what it has to do with dinner.”
I smirk and point to the cutting board. “We need some ham.”
“How much—”
“Have you learned nothing? However much you want, Queens.”
She groans but starts slicing the deli meat I found in her fridge. “You’re definitely making it a lot easier to remember how frustrating you are,” she mumbles as she slices.
I laugh. “This coming from the girl who constantly made me look like an idiot in front of the whole school?”
She gasps and points her knife at me again. “I did not!”
“Did too.”
My phone buzzes once, twice, three times in rapid succession, which means Houston is getting paranoid. Gritting my teeth, I pull it out of my pocket and try not to let my reaction show on my face as I read my friend’s texts.
Houston: Jordan, you’d better answer the question.
Houston: I’m serious.
Houston: Do I need to punch you in the face when I get back to Sun City?
I roll my eyes. Houston makes a lot of threats, but he would never actually punch anyone in the face. He’s too interested in being liked, and he likes me too much to threaten our friendship. Knowing that reminds me that I need to be careful with Brooklyn. If I end up hurting her by openly flirting when I’m in no position to date her, Houston will not hesitate to cut me out of his life.
Me: Calm down. Of course I’m driving her crazy, but what’s new? She’s fine. Ask her yourself.
“Who are you texting?” Brooklyn asks with clear curiosity in her eyes, but then her phone buzzes on the coffee table in the living room, pulling both our attention that way. “Uh, could you…?”
Though I’m tempted to sneak a peek at the text Houston sent her, I force myself to keep the screen of Brooklyn’s phone facing the floor as I grab it and bring it back to the kitchen for her. I immediately regret that decision when she groans and starts typing furiously. At this point, we should probably just start up a group chat between the three of us and let everything be out in the open.
I’m less likely to pry where I shouldn’t if I tell myself that I can’t say anything to Houston unless I also say it to his sister.
“Why does Houston want to punch you in the nose?” Brooklyn asks.
I snort. “Did he say that?”
“Apparently you’re bothering me.” She says this with a look of such long-suffering that I’m a little worried for Houston’s health when he gets home. His twin might strangle him for being overbearing.
The onions are looking good, so I hold the pan out toward Brooklyn so she can add the ham. She does so, watching me carefully to make sure she doesn’t add too much, and then I return the pan to the heat.
“Aren’t I bothering you, though?” I say, folding my arms. “You did call me frustrating just now.”
She seems to think about that, which makes me wonder if she actually is bothered by me. I know I can be annoying if I tease too hard, and I’ve invaded her space here in her basement to spend the unplanned weekend with her. But I like to think I read social cues well enough to know when I should back off. Part of winning over a new client is being able to anticipate their needs.
Not that Brooklyn is a client. In fact, even if she needed a PR guy for some reason, I would have to decline because there’s too much history between us. That history might be cloaked in pranks and frustration, but it’s there.
“I guess I just don’t know what to do with you,” Brooklyn says.
“Huh. My mom says that to me all the time.”
She scoffs and kicks her foot toward me, and I catch it on instinct. That was a bad idea. The instant my hands wrap around her ankle—the good one—I don’t want to let go. I don’t know what it is about running my fingers along her feet, but it settles my mind. Even now, just standing here in her tiny kitchen and holding her toes against my abdomen, I can practically feel my breathing grow steadier.
