EmilieLaura drops me off outside Brandon's house but drives away before I can turn around and tell her I've changed my mind. What a disaster! There are other people inside his kitchen—I can't just go and knock on his door. He obviously forgot we had plans tonight!Shit-shit-shit!What do I do now?The painting is clutched to my chest—I'm like a mom protecting her child, but I'm too scared to move. I see a big guy walk past Brandon's kitchen window. Loud laughter comes from inside, and a few cars are parked around his house. Did he invite the entire football team? And if yes, why? I thought we were going to be alone tonight...Am I that easy to forget?Geez, I guess my only choice is to call for a taxi…"Emilie?!"I spin in the direction of the voice, and my attention lands on Vincent. He is standing on the porch with a beer in his hand and beams when he sees me. "Why are you just standing there? It's cold outside. Freaking freezing. Come inside!""Uhh…""We have been waiting for you!
Brandon Where am I supposed to sleep? Snoring comes from the couch; the guys fell asleep ten minutes ago. But not before ruining my floor. Beer cans and pizza boxes lay scattered everywhere, and I would rather not sleep on the floor. The couch isn't an option, either. More than five people are sleeping on the couch, and I cautiously glance down at Emilie. She has stayed at my place countless nights in a row, but we have never shared a bed. Would she freak out if I asked her? In the past, I would have just flopped down beside her without asking, but after getting to know her, I...I care about her, okay? "Do you wanna share a bed?" Please say yes. It would be beneath me to use my sister's bed or Bernie's—that little fucker uses way too much Axe bodyspray. I would suffocate as soon as I smelled his pillow. Emilie looks up at me with a flushed face. "S-sure!" "Great." I walk up the stairs and notice Emilie's gaze is locked on her feet. Why do I get the feeling this is a bigger deal
EmelieI hold my breath when Brandon walks out of the shower. The air around him smells fresh and citrus-like, and my heart flutters when the bed sinks underneath his weight. Crunch-crunch until he lies down and stares up at the ceiling in the dark, just like me. The silence stretches until I can no longer handle it. "I wish I knew what you were thinking." I blurt out. He shifts on the bed, probably to face me. "There is always the option of asking me," he says.My face turns red. "I know what you were doing in the shower, and I guess I want to know if you're mad at me."He is silent for a while before chuckling. "Do angry people usually masturbate in the shower—is that what you're implying? Because if that's the case, then wow...you really need to find new friends."Even though he is sarcastic, I can't stop my blush from spreading. How is this man so blunt?"Don't you ever get embarrassed?" I mutter. "About what?" he asks, suddenly much closer than before. I can feel his hot breat
EmilieLaura: Are you telling me he never tries to do more than just kiss you?I look down at my phone that's lying in my lap. Brandon is driving to the hospital while I'm texting with Laura. Our subject is apparently my non-existent sex life with Brandon, although there are more important things we should be talking about. Like the fact we are heading to the hospital to say goodbye to Brandon's mom, but Laura doesn't know that, and I won't tell her. Not today. Me: I don't want him to do more. Laura: ... you're not a-sexual, are you?Me: What? No? Why?Laura: Because just looking at your man makes me want to have sex, and I think every girl on campus can agree with me. Brandon is hot.Me: I know.Laura: So what's your problem?Me: Ever heard of waiting?Laura: Oh, so it's like that? Well... I'm not against waiting, but Brandon is a man. If you don't have sex with him, he will find someone else who will. That's how men work. Laura: Don't get me wrong! I ship you two, but men will a
EmilieThe blood in my veins freezes over at Clinton's words. Did I hear him correctly? He said those words so casually as if we didn't just say farewell to his wife. Even in grief, the man doesn't cease to be cold and calculating. Brandon takes a moment to respond, and when he does, his voice is calm but laced with controlled anger. "How dare you..." he starts, then swallows hard, collecting himself before continuing. "Now is not the time for this discussion.""I talk about what I want whenever I want, and I won't let you date some nobody without money—"Something swishes past me, and my breath hitches when Brandon's fist connects with Clinton's jaw. The older man stumbles back, holding his face in surprise as Brandon towers over him, visibly shaking with rage. "You will not," Brandon snarls, each word pronounced with deadly precision, "speak about Emelie that way. Nor dictate who I choose to be with."Clinton recovers from his surprise and straightens up, wiping a streak of blood
BrandonI think I’m living in denial. My mom is gone, and she won’t come back. She is officially dead, yet the tears aren’t here yet. Instead of crying, I’m staring into space while my siblings are joking around with Emilie. I guess it’s their way of handling their grief, cracking jokes and smiling to ignore the pain of losing one’s parent. But one look at Bailey and Bernie tells me they will both be in tears once they are alone in bed. I won’t be getting away from the pain, either. I’m already feeling the sadness creep up on me even though I’m trying to keep it at bay. I can’t cry here. Emilie would be so embarrassed if I suddenly started bawling my eyes out inside a fast-food restaurant. Then again, maybe I could get away by saying I’m crying because this is the best chicken I’ve ever had?But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it?This chicken is far from the best I’ve ever had. My mom’s slow-cooked roast chicken will forever have the honor of being the best chicken I’ve ever had, an
Emilie“Brandon…” I whisper, feeling the weight of his name as I try to rake my brain for something to say. But what do you tell someone who has just lost their parent? Nothing can take the pain away, so I say the only thing that comes to mind. “I’m… I’m so sorry for your loss.”As soon as I’ve said those words, I regret them because I think I just broke the man I love. Brandon’s hands grip the steering wheel tighter even though the car’s engine isn’t on, knuckles whitening. And then there’s a sound that shatters the silence—a guttural sob that seems to wrench from deep within him. My heart lurches. Brandon, my Brandon, the guy who’s more likely to be a grumpy bastard than a sensitive, sweet guy, is crying. Tears are flooding down his face, and I feel terrible. Should I have ignored the elephant in the room and not said anything?“Hey.” My voice is strained since there’s a lump of guilt in my throat. But it doesn’t stop me from trying to comfort him. I reach out tentatively, placi
EmilieWhen I wake up the next day, I find Brandon snuggled close to me, clinging onto me as if he never wants to let go. We are curled up in my bed, my nose nuzzled into his sturdy chest while his big hands play with my hair. His chest rises and falls like two fluffy pillows, and I can feel his warm breath tickling my scalp each time he exhales.I smile and hesitantly reach out my right hand to place it on his side. He doesn’t even twitch, so I slowly stroke his tanned skin. It seems innocent at first, but then my fingers drift down to his lower abdominal muscles. What can I say? A girl has needs. Like a pervert, I skim over them lightly, relishing the way they twitch under my touch, the subtle shiver that it coaxes from Brandon’s sleeping form. He’s still asleep, his expression peaceful, the blonde stubble on his jaw giving him a rugged look that my fingers itch to trace.A small puff of air escapes his lips as my fingertips skirt the waistband of his boxers, though I stop shy of l