Riding With Brighton(56)
I raise my eyebrows at him and laugh. “You don’t like open ends?”
He gives me a disappointed look. “You’re a smartass and I’m….”
“A total smartass too.”
“Okay fine, but you’re more witty and self-assured, and I’m self-deprecating.”
“I’m not wittier. And you’re pretty damn cocky in a lot of areas. Like when you’re on the field… or in my bed.”
“Because I’m a control freak.”
“And I’m not. I get it. We have nothing in common.”
“Which means we’re perfect for each other.”
“Does it?” I ask, totally agreeing but not ready to jump off that cliff yet.
“Yeah. I kind of think it does. I mean, I think you’re perfect, and you think I am too,” he tells me with a confident smile.
“It takes more than a day to find a person’s flaws.”
“I just listed a bunch of both of our flaws. It’s not about flaws. It’s about you compensating for my flaws and me compensating for yours. That’s why we’re perfect.”
“I suppose it’s totally possible.”
“Or not,” he says, backing away from me. “Maybe I don’t really like you at all.”
I hop down off the table and stalk after him. “What do I gotta do to make you like me?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been pulling all kinds of awesome activities out of your ass all day. I’m sure there’s more where that came from.”
“You want the whole romance thing? The whole me sweeping you off your feet situation?”
“Does that make me the girl in this scenario?”
I laugh. “Wow, Jay. I’m gonna have to set you up for a session with Dr. Mickey. She’s got some pretty strong opinions about gender identity.”
“No thanks.” He sounds genuinely horrified. “I think she actually likes me. When she finds out what a Neanderthal I am, she’s gonna be forcing you into Samuel’s sensitive arms.”
“So are you gonna let me sweep you off your feet, or are you too manly?”
“Yeah, Brighton. Sweep me off my feet.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jay
I WAS totally being a smartass when I told Brighton to sweep me off my feet. I don’t know why I doubted he could pull it off in a matter of seconds. I mean, I was already fairly convinced he was the most perfect specimen of a human being, and then he goes and pulls this shit.
Mickey’s got a fridge with bottles of beer in it. And a closet with a giant blanket. Brighton’s got an iPhone in his pocket and portable speakers in the studio. Brighton also has a ladder outside, leaned up against the garage. And the universe is on his side too because there is a sky full of stars, and the night air is so calm and mild I can’t even feel it.
Do you see what’s going on here? I’m lying on a blanket that’s on a pitched roof looking up at the stars while music plays in the background. One of my hands is wrapped around a beer, and the other one is wrapped around a hard thigh covered in soft sweats.
Sweatpants are just one more thing, like hands, that I never knew were sexy. Brighton’s gray sweats that hang low on his hips and accentuate the shelf of his ass are extremely hot. And perfect. Everything about this moment is perfect.
“Do you come up here a lot?” I ask when I’m finally done pondering the myriad magical ways of Brighton.
“Is that a line? Are you hitting on me?”
“Totally. Is it working?”
“Maybe. And, yeah, I do come up here a lot. It’s a good place to think. It helps me remember that the world is huge—so much bigger than whatever bullshit is clouding my brain.”
“So it’s not just the place you bring guys to sweep them off their feet?” I can’t help asking.
“You’re the first.”
If I were smart, I would take my prize and be happy, but right now I’m too tired to be smart. “What about Harrison?”
“Nope.” Brighton’s tone is short. I’ve picked up on the fact that it gets that way when the ex is brought up.
“Did you love him?” I don’t know why I ask him that. It’s ridiculous that it bothers me. I’m blaming it on exhaustion. And the fact that I feel like I’m floating around in the middle of the galaxy. Which isn’t possible. Which means nothing I say right now really matters.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
My chest tightens at those words. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it does. “What does that feel like?”
He’s quiet for a few moments. I know he doesn’t want to answer my question, but eventually he does. “I don’t know. When I fell in love with him, it was a process.”
“A process?”
“Yeah. It took a while, you know? I wanted him, then I liked him, and then I liked him more, and then I loved him, and then I guess, slowly, I fell in love with him.” I take mild comfort in the fact that Brighton sounds like he’s reporting really boring weather when describing falling in love with Harrison.
“What was the difference between liking him more, loving him, and falling in love with him?”
“Need, I guess. Before I fell in love with him, I liked being with him and talking to him but it wasn’t until I fell in love with him that I needed him. Why are you asking?”