Page 5 of The Older Brother
So much forCami being my responsible and sober driver. She’s still asleep on the leather sectional in front of the massive stone fireplace. She’s also wearing Warren’s, her ex’s, football jersey, which he will never wear again since we all left high school behind a week ago. Whatever went down with them last night is likely going to mess with my friend’s head when she finally wakes up. I should probably put that off as long as I can. She’s not a fan of my honesty when it comes to her relationship decisions. Just like I’m not real interested in hearing about all the ways she was right about me and Caleb.
I tiptoe my way into the kitchen, quietly sifting through the rack of coffee capsules until I find an almond one. I push the cup into the machine and snag a mug from the cupboard, sliding it into place and staring at its empty center while I wait.
One of the nice things about growing up with the Andersons is that I have first dibs on the spare bedroom when I need it. I haven’t slept in that room since I was a pre-teen. When I was with Caleb, I was always in his room, in his bed, whenever I stayed here. Maybe it’s the years between, but the spare room felt a lot colder than I remember it. I slept hard with the helpof alcohol, but it took me an hour to fully crack my eyelids open this morning, and that time was spent taking in all the things that have been abandoned in that room. Old photo albums and boxes of mementos. A painting that Caleb and Rowan’s mom, Cora, did of their beach house in Malibu, the same one Rowan burned down eight years ago. And me—the discarded girlfriend. Rowan’s plaything. The spare girl screaming to be seen as a woman.
I had a few more champagne flutes after Rowan left me bewildered last night. And I tossed in a couple tequila shots when I discovered Cami was doing them and had zero plans to drive us home last night. I needed the buzz to get through the speeches. To hear my mom gloat in a roomful of my peers and forty-year-old business partners I don’t know about all my accomplishments, my swimming dedication, my scholarship, my plans for grad school—news to me, by the way—all on my way to becoming a powerful CEO.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose to force out the puffiness and rid my head of replaying her speech again. The missing slice of cake never came up, but she also never offered me a piece, whichIknow was because she knew I probably already had one.
The last few droplets of coffee steam into the mug, and I grasp the handle just as I feel the space get tighter behind me. He smells the same as his brother did last night, yet somehow my physical reaction is vastly different. My neck still pebbles with goosebumps from the nearness of his chin to the curve of my neck, and when his fingertips brush against my shoulder, I visibly shiver.
“Your top is coming undone,” he says at my ear. A place he doesn’t have a right to be anymore.
I clear my throat and step to the side, setting my coffee on the counter then covering the loose knot with my own hand to remedy.
“Hazard of sleeping in a bikini top.” My eyes lift to meet his briefly before I tuck my chin to my shoulder and retie the long swimsuit strings.
“Maybe you should have worn a one-piece,” he says in a flat tone, grabbing the bitter, plain coffee flavor pod, swapping out my empty cartridge for his. I’m about to comment on his lack of taste when he spins to face me while sporting a truly pompous smirk.
“But you knew a bikini would get my attention. Didn’t you?” His gaze lingers on mine, his eyes bloodshot from the heavy drinking and pot he smoked last night.
The breathy laugh that leaves me is a surprise. I didn’t expect to be this strong in his presence. And I definitely don’t think Caleb expected it. I’ve only ever been two ways with him: a loyal friend or a smitten teenager.
“I didn’t wear it for you.” Sure, it’s a lie . . . sort of. I mean, I hoped he would notice. I hopedlotsof people would notice. And I hoped all that attention would eat at him. Clearly it has, too, given the fact that it’s the first thing he’s brought up this morning.
“Am I supposed to think you wore that for Rowan?” He flips around and leans back on the counter, gripping the sides and stretching back to show off his bare stomach and chest, the low-rise of his sweats that hang low enough to expose the ridges along his abdomen, and his apparent lack of boxers.
I roll my eyes as I leave him alone in the kitchen, taking my coffee into the dining room, where I pull out the head chair and fold my legs up. I cradle the mug in my palms and wait for it to cool, blowing along the surface enough to make tiny ripples in the liquid.
Caleb joins me after a minute or two, taking the seat closest to me. My lips pop open to protest his company, but just as I’m about to speak, he drops a pile of envelopes on the table in front of me.
My brow draws in as I set my mug to the side and spin the top envelope so the cursive Saylor written across the middle in golden ink is facing the right way.
“Your portion of the graduation gifts. Remember? The whole point of the party?”
Caleb lifts his brows for a half second before blowing on his own cup of coffee, and I give in to the gravity pulling me into the velvety padded chair. I’m sure people gave Caleb cash and gifts, but he doesn’t need them the way I do. Yet one more reminder from him of our differences. “We come from different worlds,” he had said when he broke it off with me. One of his many reasons why we should split before college.
I tap my finger against the ribbed envelope that I’m sure contains a seriously overpriced card. I wish whoever gave me this simply added what they spent to the check I’m sure is inside. They could have folded the check in a sheet of legal pad paper for all I care.
“Thanks,” I croak, suddenly feeling like an Anderson family charity case.
I slide the cards into a stack and grip them in one hand while clutching my mug in the other. Suddenly, waking up my friend and enduring a day of hearing her relationship drama seems like the winning choice.
I push my chair back under the table with my hip, my cut-off shorts still a bit damp from being splashed and left on the ground most of the night. I can’t wait to get home and shower.
“Hey, Saylor? One thing.”
I’m nearly out of the dining room before Caleb stops me. I glance over my shoulder to meet his blue-eyed stare, and the way he twists his lips and furrows his brow sends my pulse racing.
“Be careful.” His gaze lingers, his mouth a thin line that evokes a sense of judgement yet also a hint of caution.
I blink after a few silent seconds and nod once before leaving him behind.
He saw me with Rowan. I’m now sure of it. He noticed everything, too. Not just my suit. And while it feels good that it made an impression, his warning also makes me a bit uneasy.
What’s more is that I suddenly feel the urge to be defiant. I don’t want to be careful at all. Careful with Rowan, with my summer, with my future. I want to be off script for once in my fucking life.
After a few gulps of my coffee, I discard the mug on the marble sofa table before getting on my knees and brushing my best friend’s tangled brown hair away from her face. Cami scrunches her nose and groans as the hairs tickle her cheeks.
