Page 8 of Beyond Friendship

“Helping a friend,” he whispers back before gesturing toward the untouched cabinet to our left. “Shall we start with that one?”

I let out a tired sigh and nod at him. “Thanks.”

“You should have called me, Brownie.” The nickname he usually calls me fills my tired body with warmth. We move side by side, our brushstrokes in harmony.

“How’s Six-Pack doing?”

He grins, his face lit up with pride. “Pretty good. People seem to like it, and we’re doing better every week.”

His enthusiasm is contagious, and I can’t help but smile back. “It doesn’t surprise me. The place turned out amazing. I remember overhearing people in the diner across the road raving about it while I waited in line. Their eyes light up when they talk about it,” I comment.

He beams even brighter, his chest puffing with pride at the recognition of his hard work. What he doesn’t know is that the women were also gossiping about how ‘hot-as-fuck’ the owner was too—though I won’t bring it up. Jealousy burns in my stomach as thoughts of what could be if we weren’t just friends run through my head.

His phone blares, and he answers it gruffly. Seconds later, his voice is a deep baritone.

“Who gave you my number?”

I’m close enough to hear a woman’s voice utter something that makes him sigh deeply and look away from me. He mumbles in response, “I’m not interested. Just tell Delilah to delete my number.”

He breaks the call abruptly and turns to me, his gaze intense.

“Broke another heart?” I ask knowingly because in the years I’ve known this man, I’ve become familiar with his fleeting romantic entanglements. In Brian’s language, a ‘good night’ is a fling with no strings attached. Usually, women don’t mind; they tell him what he wants to hear until the night ends and they attempt to change his mind. I shake my head silently; good luck with that effort.

Brian stares at me as if challenging me before he speaks.

“Someone gave her my number, and she called to…” His words trail off, but I know what he’s going to say—she wanted to be one of his ‘good nights.’ Thinking that perhaps she’d be the one who would make him rethink his stance on relationships.

My eyes glide over Brian. His charisma is palpable, like a force of nature. Everywhere he turns his attention, it feels like the universe revolves around that single individual. Even after all these years of being friends, I still find myself spellbound by him. There’s a certain connection between us, so strong that I can feel it sizzling in the air whenever we lock eyes.

My heart drums with anticipation as my mind indulges in fantasies of what could be.What if I initiate the first step? Would his lips be as smooth and inviting as they seem in my dreams? Would his touch set me alight with passion?I will never know; not only because he’s best friends with my brother but also because he’s a close friend to me. With a heavy sigh, I force myself to repress the intense emotions that have been brewing ever since the night we first met.

My lids feel heavy and my muscles ache as I murmur, “I need a break,” getting up from the ground to retreat to the corner chair wrapped into a blanket. He turns to face me, his perfect lips mimicking the word ‘okay’ before spinning back around, his golden locks shifting with each movement.

God, he’s so beautiful. His shirt clings to his body in all the right places, highlighting every curve of muscle beneath that he acquired through regular workouts with the guys. My pulse quickens at the thought of being close to him, and I fight against it, trying to stay focused. But when I close my eyes, the hint of sandalwood and citrus teases my nose and pulls me into a dreamscape inhabited only by him.

My name rolling off his lips in a soft, inviting tone gets me to open up. I blink away the haziness, struggling to remember where I am before he speaks again.

“Good morning, Brownie?” He chuckles, but I hear the exhaustion in his voice and know it’s time to get back to work after my moment of rest.

“Let’s get back to work.” Reluctantly, I stretch out my body, dreading the thought of hours of painting, only to find myself stunned by what I see; the walls are all finished. My eyes flitter across the room, noticing even the intricate woodwork is pearl white.

“It’s done,” I cry out in disbelief, not quite believing that the immense task is finished.

Brian stretches out his own exhausted frame and a weary smile tugs at his lips as he hears my reaction.

“How is this possible? What time is it?”

I glance at the clock on the wall. “What? Eight o’clock. Oh my God, I fell asleep?”

He chuckles.

I face him. “Brian. Why didn’t you wake me?” I grumble, feeling an odd sense of warmth bubbling up inside me.

He shrugs before offering a reply. “You were exhausted, so...”

Without conscious thought, I take him by the neck and hug him close to me. “Thank you,” comes my muffled voice against his shoulder.

His arms encase me, pressing me closer with care, like I’m made of something fragile and precious.

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