Page 20 of Crossing the Brooklyn Briggs
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m allergic to cats and haven’t ever been into dogs. They’re too needy. Do you like running?”
She looks at her swollen ankle, as if that’s answer enough. “This clearly isn’t working, Jordan. What am I supposed to do if I have nothing in common with Mark?”
Rejoice? Because I may know nothing about the guy, but I already don’t like him. He sounds pretentious. Besides, Brooklyn and I have never struggled with conversation. Not even back in the day. I remember some evenings where Houston would give up on trying to keep up with us and play a video game or something while we went at it. Brooklyn always acted like she suffered through our long winded back-and-forths, but she was more often than not the one who started them.
“We can find something,” I tell her. Honestly, I don’t care what we talk about; I just want her to see that she can do it. “What do you most love doing on the weekends?”
Shrugging, she gestures to the TV. “I don’t know. I like watching period pieces. But I doubt you—”
“That’s awesome!” And while I may not have seen many—if any—period films, her eyes lit up when she mentioned them, and I am nothing if not good on my feet. I can’t have my first flirting lesson fail because I apparently have nothing in common with my best friend’s twin anymore. “What’s your favorite?”
Though she raises a skeptical eyebrow, she thinks about that for a second and then says, “It depends on my mood. But you can never go wrong with Jane Austen.”
“Are you aPride and Prejudicepurist? Six-hour version only?” Thank goodness Natalie watched that one all the time when we were together, though I never joined her. At least I know who Jane Austen is, and she mentioned once that the ridiculously long version was way better than any other.
Brooklyn stares at me like I just spoke nonsense, and her voice comes out slightly breathless. “I don’t really care. I love them all.”
“What do you like about period pieces?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I guess the past seems simpler. There’s more structure, and everyone follows the rules. Everyone knows their place and no one has to wonder what kind of life they might live unless they get lucky enough to move up. It all sounds so easy.”
I disagree with that—expectations can seriously limit choice—but I keep my thoughts to myself. Brooklyn is smiling now, her gaze going distant as if she’s imagining herself living in a different time. I wonder if she’s picturing her childhood and envisioning a better life for herself, one where she didn’t have a father who cared more about getting his fix than looking after his three kids. I didn’t know her and Houston then, and Houston pretty much never talks about his deadbeat dad, who has been in prison for the last decade and a half. But I’ve inferred a lot over the years, and I know their younger life was pretty rough before they moved in with their wealthy stepdad.
“You and your rules,” I mutter, hoping to bring her back to the moment.
She looks at me and scoffs. “Why does it not surprise me that you don’t like rules?”
“Rules are great,” I argue. “In certain situations. I’ve already told you that great things can come from chaos. Chaos is the reason Houston and I became friends, isn’t it?”
She rolls her eyes. “What’s your favorite period film?”
I chuckle, shifting the ice on her ankle again. “I haven’t actually seen one,” I admit. “Feel free to judge me.”
“Oh, I am,” she replies. “But I’m also thinking I need to educate you. My house, my movies.”
That sounds like the most boring thing in the world—give me mystery and adventure instead—but she’s right. I’m already invading her space for the weekend, so I should let her dictate what her weekend is going to look like. “Teach away,” I tell her. “Start with one of your favorites.”
She narrows her eyes. “Pride and Prejudice?”
I don’t think I can sit still for that long, but I nod anyway. “If that’s what you think will sell me, go for it. I want to see why they’re so fascinating so I can better understand you. It will help with tomorrow’s flirting lessons.” It won’t, but I’m going to pretend it will.
She pulls it up, and I nearly breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it’s the newer version, the one with the girl from that pirate movie I never saw. Even back in high school, I didn’t have much time to sit and watch a movie, and I definitely haven’t in the last decade. This is going to be a test of my patience.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” Brooklyn asks, smirking at me in a way that almost feels like a challenge.
“Oh, I can handle it,” I growl back.
I just hope I’m right. My computer is still sitting there, calling my name, but I refuse to let work get in the way of building a relationship. Even if that relationship is only a friendship. Someone like Brooklyn is too valuable to toss aside, and I know Houston would kill me if I neglected her when she’s injured like this.
And my friendship with Houston is something I can’t ruin. I won’t. He needs me as much as I need him.
Chapter Eight
Brooklyn
Five minutes into the movie, during which I’ve barely been able to focus on the Bennett sisters because I’m too busy chiding myself for getting too excited about historical films, Jordan picks up my foot. He was already holding my legs in his lap to ice my ankle, but his cold fingers wrap around my uninjured foot and start kneading. I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it because his eyes are fixed on the TV, butIrealize.
I can’t think about anything else.
