Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Hot.
Everything about this man is hot. Which begs the question, why am I not the blubbering mess I usually am in front of guys who aren’t nearly as gorgeous as Brooks?
Could be that I’ve known him since I was eight. That’s when George went off to college; he and Brooks were roommates all four years. George always treated me like an annoying little sister. But as I grew older, Brooks treated me as an equal. He was at our house a lot over the years, especially when he and George moved to Charlotte after school to work at A&T. He and George would row on Lake Norman, where my parents still live.
At that point, I was a senior in high school. Brooks was always patient, asking me about my friends, my teachers. My grades. When I got a five on my AP Chemistry test, he sent me the KitchenAid stand mixer I’d been lusting after. I got his number from George and called him to say thanks. “They say baking is a science, after all,” he’d told me. “We nerds need to stick together.”
I’d always wondered why Brooks was so kind. Then George told me about Lizzie passing when they were freshmen in college. I guess Brooks had taken me under his wing as his adopted sister or something.
Which means we could never be more than friends. At best, he sees me as that adopted sister. At worst, I’m his friend’s sibling, and I know that’s a line no one in their bro crew would ever cross. Then there’s the fact that he’s more than a decade older than I am, and into women who are more mature and more beautiful and more accomplished than I could ever hope to be.
I’d have a better chance of going on a date with Alexander Skarsgard than with Brooks.
That, more than anything else, probably explains why I’m not an awkward, nervous wreck around him. Deep down, I know I don’t have a chance in hell with the guy, so I’m able to be myself around him.
Honestly, it’s kind of nice.
So is him sending me that text tonight. My heart twists when I remember Brooks being quieter than usual the day he helped with the table. I pulled George aside and asked him about it. He told me Lizzie had died that day thirteen years before, and George was trying to keep Brooks busy so he didn’t dwell on it too much.
I bet that’s why he sent the text in the first place. Because he’s thinking about his sister more than normal.
Could also explain why he’s being especially grumpy and protective and weirdly territorial. Not because he’s into me, obviously. But because I’m the sister he wishes he still had.
My heart twists again, for a different reason this time. Pushing that emotion aside, I run my tongue along my bottom lip. “You said you were up when I called. Having trouble sleeping?”
He adjusts his grip on the wheel. “A little, yeah.”
Up ahead, North Davidson Street is closed—shit, I forgot to tell Brooks about the construction here—so we follow signs that take us on a detour to a back street I don’t recognize.
“How are you doing? Like, really doing?” I ask softly. “I know this time of year is hard for you.”
He cuts me a glance, too quick to identify the look in his eyes. But then I catch his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows before he says, “You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered. Your family does something fun for her, right? On the anniversary. I think George mentioned y’all—”
“Roller-skate.”
I raise a brow and tease, “You roller-skate?”
“Hey.” He grins. “I happen to be one mean motherfucker on skates.”
“Stop,” I reply with a laugh. “Brooks Huntley on roller skates. I won’t believe it til I see it.”
“On Friday night glow-in-the-dark skate, no less.”
My mouth drops open. “Please tell me you’re being serious.”
“I’m being serious.” He turns the wheel with the heel of his hand. “In middle school, Lizzie and I never missed a Friday at Kate’s Roller Rink.”
“Kate’s!” I clap my hands. “Oh my God, I love that place. Watching your seventh-grade crush zoom by while feeling all the feels listening to Miley Cyrus? I bet your parents hate it, but I happen to think it’s magic.”
“My parents don’t come.”
I scrunch my forehead. “You go by yourself?”
“Yep.”
I imagine Brooks skating alone to a forlorn P!nk song, hands tucked into the pockets of his pressed trousers.
Poor guy. As if this whole thing wasn’t tragic enough.
“Any interest in having company this year?”
He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “What? Greer, you’re kind to offer, but . . .”
“Totally get it if you want to mark the occasion alone.” I hold up my hands. “But if you’d like some moral support, I’m down to join you. I also promise to make you feel really, really good about your skating skills, because I suck.”