Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(11)

Not that I need to be thinking about Abby right now. I stare at the chip bowl. “So what are we doing after this?”

“Well, I have a project,” says Bram.

“What kind of project?”

Bram blushes, mouth quirking upward. “I’m kind of working on a promposal.”

Ninety minutes later, Morgan, Anna, and Garrett are watching anime in Morgan’s living room, and I’m eating microwave s’mores at the kitchen table with Bram. “So you inspired me,” he says.

“Me?”

He nods toward my phone. “With the picture you showed me.”

“Are you doing a Morgan’s bat mitzvah–themed promposal? Because that would be epic.”

“Good guess.” He grins. “But no. I mean, I don’t know. I think I need to pick your brain for a minute.”

“About what?”

“I need all your embarrassing Simon stories.” He takes a bite of s’more and smiles. There’s a tiny blob of marshmallow stuck to his lip.

“You realize this could take all day, right?” I say.

He laughs. “I’m here for it.”

“Also, totally unrelated, but I have to know. Did Baby Bram call graham crackers—”

“Bram crackers?” He smiles. “Maybe. Definitely.”

“That’s amazing.”

“I’m making another. You want one?” He stands.

“Obviously.” I tuck my chin into my hand. “Okay, so Simon.”

“Simon.”

There’s this tug in my chest. Because when Bram says Simon’s name, he pronounces every part of it. Like it’s worth being careful over. It’s really sweet and everything, but wow. I get so jealous sometimes. It’s obviously not just Simon and Bram. It’s couples in general. And it’s not about the kissing stuff. It’s just—imagine being Simon. Imagine going about your day knowing someone’s carrying you in their mind. That has to be the best part of being in love—the feeling of having a home in someone else’s brain.

I push away the thought. “All right. So I assume you’ve seen the jean shorts picture?”

“The one on their mantel?” He grins back at me from across the kitchen.

“Yup. Okay, what about when he puked in the wax hand?”

“He actually told me that himself.”

“Yeah, he’s probably proud of that one.” I bite my lip. “Huh. Like, it really shouldn’t be this hard to think of embarrassing Simon stories.”

“You would think,” Bram says. The microwave beeps, and I watch for a minute as he carefully presses the s’mores together. Only Bram could wrangle a giant puffed-up marshmallow so neatly. He carries the s’mores back to the table and slides the plate in front of me. And I’m just about to grab one, but I’m suddenly inspired.

“Wait, do you know about his thing with Love Actually?”

“I know his parents make him watch it every Christmas, and he hates it.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t hate it.” I take a giant bite of s’more, peeking up at him with my widest, most innocent eyes.

Bram grins. “It sounds like there’s a story here.”

“Oh, there’s a story. Simon wrote the story.”

Bram opens his mouth to reply, but then Garrett pops his head up over the back of the couch. “Hey, Burke. Question. So, I’m trying to figure out the plan for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“The play,” calls Morgan from the armchair.

“Oh, I knew that.”

“Are you going?” Garrett asks.

“I was planning on it.”

Bram and Garrett glance at each other quickly, whatever that means. “Want to come with us?” Bram asks. “We want to get there early and get good seats.”

“In other words, Greenfeld wants an unobstructed view of his boyfriend’s ass.”

Bram shakes his head, smiling.

“Maybe we can grab dinner or something beforehand,” Garrett adds.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so? Leah. Leah.” Garrett shakes his head.

I force a giant, cheesy smile. “Oh. My. God. I can’t wait!”

“Better,” he says, sinking back into the couch.

But all night, at home, I’m not thinking about the play. I collapse onto the couch with a Coke, feeling edgy and restless. My mind keeps drifting back to what Morgan said at Rio Bravo. Abby wants to tour UGA with us. It’s not like it’s totally out of left field. We’re technically friends. But probably a hundred people from our grade applied to Georgia, and Abby’s friends with all of them. She’s friends with everyone. So it’s a little bit surprising that she’d want to go with us.

My phone buzzes on the table, and my heart just swoops.

But it’s Garrett.

Hey I’m glad you’re coming to the play tomorrow, should be really fun.

I curl back onto the couch, staring at it. Garrett does this sometimes. He sends me these texts out of nowhere with no real opening for a conversation. Just a statement. And I never know how to respond. To be honest, I get this vibe sometimes that Garrett likes me. I mean, I’m probably imagining it, and Garrett’s probably just really awkward. But sometimes I wonder.