Page 376 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
“I don’t think we willhaveto, necessarily,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. “But it would probably help.”
“Let’s plan on it, then,” she says, her tone growing more and more business-like.
If I could see inside her brain, I’m pretty sure I’d find an army of construction workers building a brick wall, thick and impenetrable, its sole purpose to separatemefrom Audrey.
It occurs to me that even if she’s willing, I’d rathernotkiss Audrey than only kiss her because we’re pretending. Now that I want to kiss her for real, anything else somehow feels cheap. Not to mention torturous. Nothing like having a small taste of something you really want but can’t actually have.
“If it’s absolutely necessary,” I say, knowing I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it isn’t.
Simply put, I like her too much.
We’re quiet for a long, awkward moment—so awkward that I expect Audrey to flee at any time. There’s dinner in the kitchen, and a movie cued up for us to watch after we eat. But something tells me Audrey isn’t going to want to stay. Not unless I do something to recover the mood and steer us back onto “friendly” ground.
A part of me wants to just let her go. Give myself the chance to wallow and lick my wounds. I didn’t come right out and tell Audrey how I’m feeling, but I definitely implied it.
But a bigger part of me—probably the stupid part—still wants her to stay. This is a big and stupid lonely house, and I like Audrey’s company. I just need to reframe how I see her. Somehow knock her back into the friendship zone.
It’ll take some acting. Luckily, I have some experience with that.
I give my shoulders a little shake and nudge her knee with mine, willing my expression into something light and friendly. “Hey,” I say, reaching out and giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze before dropping my hands back to my side. “It’s okay,”I say. “I’m okay. I’m grateful you’re willing to do this, and I’m happy to do it as friends.” I hold her gaze. “Justfriends.”
“I think that would be best,” she says softly. “I’m glad you understand.”
I lift a shoulder. “Actually, I think you’re probably right,” I lie. “Our worlds are completely different. We’re probably saving ourselves a lot of trouble by getting this sorted out now.”
She nods, but she’s still frowning. “Right. Definitely.”
I look over my shoulder toward the kitchen. “I promised you dinner,” I say. “Will you stay? I was thinking we could eat while we watch a movie.”
A flash of trepidation crosses her features, and her eyes cut to the front door before darting back to me.
“As friends, Audrey. I promise. I have no ulterior motive here. I just enjoy your company, and I’d like you to stay.” My words sound so convincing, I almost believe them myself.
Except that isn’t quite good enough. I have to make myself believe them. Find a way to be content if Audrey is only ever my friend.
She nods. “Okay. I’d like that. I like the sound offriends.”
I lead her to the kitchen, willing, even if begrudgingly, to make this new dynamic work. Things are awkward at first, but then we both start to relax, falling into the same easy pattern we had when we were in the pool. Conversation comes easily, energy buzzing between us, and Audrey’s smiles come quickly and frequently. We eat sitting at the island in my kitchen, our knees close together under the bar, and every time Audrey gets up—to get a napkin, to refill her water glass, to grab a second piece of bread—she touches my shoulder as she passes by. I’m not even sure she realizes she’s doing it. Either way, it confirms my earlier suspicion. She might be afraid, fighting whatever this is, but itissomething. She feels the pull, too.
And that thought fills me with a potent (and dangerous) emotion. At least when it comes to Audrey.
Hope.
Chapter Nineteen
Audrey
I don’t even knowwhat happened.
One second, I was inches away from kissing Flint Hawthorne, from letting my heart give in to whatever was happening between us. Then the next, I was caught in a nearly blinding panic.
Suddenly, all I could see was a future of photographers scrambling to take Flint’s picture everywhere we went. Of fans wanting to talk to him, touch him, writefanfictionabout him. Then I spiraled into thinking about what those fans might think ofme.Would they judge me? Criticize my hair? My wardrobe? My career choices? Would they dig up old pictures from my high school yearbook and wonder why Flint Hawthorne was dating someone so completely nerdy?
The thought of all that attention, all thatnoisein my life. It was too much.
So I pushed away.
And it was the right thing to do.
