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)
I’m not cool around guys. Maybe because I can’t be myself around them? I don’t know. I’m always trying to be a “better” version of myself when I’m with someone. I guess I don’t feel like I’m good enough company as is. Just as I am.
But Brooks? He seems to find my company a damn delight. Which is ironic, because I’m not even trying to be cool. I’m just being myself.
And the feeling that gives me—the sense of confidence in my complete, messy, awkward, not-at-all-polished humanity—is kind of the best thing ever.
It’s how I want to feel with any guy I date.
If only I could find him.
Chapter Six
BROOKS
The lights come on.
The music stops.
Blinking, Greer and I look at each other. Her bangs stick to the sweat on her forehead. Her cheeks and chest are bright pink. She’s biting her bottom lip, mouth curved upward in a smile. There’s a smudge of mascara underneath her left eye. I resist the urge to reach up and wipe it away with my thumb.
She’s incandescent. Transformed from the exhausted, stressed girl I saw this morning into a breathless, happy woman who can’t stop laughing.
So. Much. Laughing. My sides ache from it.
I did this. I lit her up.
Doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t there for my sister when I should’ve been. But damn does it feel nice, doing something good for once.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Midnight,” I say in disbelief. “It’s when they close. I never make it this late.”
She grins. I realize we’re still holding hands. “Because you go to bed at seven-thirty?”
“I try to make it to eight, actually.”
“Look at you, walking on the wild side! We should head out, though, before you turn into a pumpkin.”
I lead Greer off the rink. Keep her hand in mine until she’s safely seated. My hand tingles when I finally do let her go, and I discreetly give it a shake while she puts on her shoes. Grabbing two waters from the concession stand, I help her into her coat and we head for the car.
She walks close to me, the light of a nearby lamppost catching on her nose and chin. I like having her near. I shouldn’t. But I do. All night, I’ve waited for the grief to detonate inside me. It always does when I’m at Kate’s. It’s why I leave early.
But tonight, the grief didn’t take me out. And I can only assume it’s because Greer’s been with me.
Don’t get me wrong, I thought about my sister. A lot. When her favorite K-Ci & JoJo song came on, I felt my throat getting tight. I didn’t fight it. But the feeling rose and then it just . . . receded. Still there, but not threatening to take me out. Greer’s hand in mine tethered me to the present. She laughed and sang and skated, and I did too. Just like Lizzie and I used to do when we were kids.
For the first time, I feel like I commemorated my sister’s life tonight instead of marking her death.
I feel like I let myself just miss her instead of beating myself up about how it all went down.
“That was ridiculously fun,” Greer says when I climb into the driver’s seat. “Thank you again for letting me crash.”
I reach for my seatbelt and realize my hand is shaking. Is it the scent of her perfume filling the car? She smells fucking lovely.
“I’m glad you were able to come.” I’m grateful the wheel is keeping my hands busy. “You looked great out there on the rink.”
She drinks her water, the plastic bottle crinkling in her fist. “I was awful, but I appreciate you pretending like I wasn’t. You, though—you’re a rock star on skates.”
Don’t flirt. You’re playing with fire.
But the words fly out of my mouth anyway. Maybe because she said I was a good at staying in control, and now I want to show her other things I’m good at.
Less innocent things.
“I’m a rock star in lots of areas.”
“Oh?” Greer smirks. “What areas are we talking?”
Fuck me.
There’s the obvious dirty joke here, and then an even dirtier one about my expertise in eating muffins. Thank God I have the self-restraint not to make either of them.
“Knitting.”
Greer lets out a guffaw, real and bright. Brightness I feel in my chest.
“Puzzling,” she says, and this time I’m the one who laughs.
“I actually do love a puzzle.”
“Me too! Puzzles are what got me through the pandemic. There’s something so satisfying about putting that last piece in place.”
“No shit. It’s almost better than—” I stop myself just in time. Christ, what is wrong with me? These pervy thoughts won’t quit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Greer lift a brow. “Better than what, Brooks?”
“Chocolate muffins for breakfast. Almost.”
She gives my arm a playful shove. The electric rush inside my skin has me holding the wheel in a death grip now.