I pause, wondering how he knows my work schedule, but let it go. It can’t be hard to figure out what nights are busy at the bar or to notice my comings and goings.
“I guess.”
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“That isn’t helping reassure me…”
“Just come downstairs when you’re done.”
“K,” I respond, clipped.
I’m on hyperalert, listening for any sound of movement on the other side of the door. It’s quiet for what feels like a minute before I hear the floor groan again as he walks down the steps.
Letting out a deep exhale, I stare at myself in the mirror, picking up the tube of mascara, I take my time doing the rest of my makeup, in hopes of delaying whatever conversation we’re about to have.
When I’m certain I’ve wasted enough time, I pick up the rest of my stuff and put it back into the linen closet before turning off the light.
I opted to wear my hair down tonight and kept it light on the makeup, only a small amount of champagne-colored eyeshadow and mascara.
Dressed in my Whiskey Barrel tank top and denim shorts, I grab a pair of socks to wear with my sneakers and drag myself downstairs. The sliding glass door is open, leading out onto the back patio, and the scent of food cooking on the grill permeates the air.
“Hey,” I say, holding my hand against the door frame. Brix’s back is facing me, his shirt pulled off, hanging over his shoulder.He’s barefoot, dressed in only a pair of black shorts with the chain clipped to his wallet in his back pocket.
He glances over his shoulder, his eyes falling on my chest, pausing on my legs before they finally meet mine.He pulls his lip ring into his mouth, biting down.
“Hi,” he replies, turning his attention back to the food.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Stepping down onto the patio, the concrete is warm against my bare feet, as I take a seat on the lawn chair, facing him.
“You hungry?”
“What?”
“Food.” He motions to the burgers cooking on the grill. “You want some?”
I’m still full from lunch with Kyla, shaking my head no. I can’t help but feel like this is some sort of peace offering.
He doesn’t say anything, turning back to flip the rest of the burgers before setting the spatula down on the table and ducks back into the house.
A few minutes later, he steps outside with plates in his hand and condiments in the other. His arms are full, and even though I declined his invitation, I jump to my feet to help him, but he pulls back, shaking his head.
“Just sit.”
Pressing my lips together, I drop my arms to my sides and suppress the urge to speak my mind. My tongue darts out, wetting my dry lips. His eyes fall on my mouth, watching as I do. When my teeth clamp down on my lower lip, dragging it into my mouth, his eyes look back at me once again.
Shaking his head, he stalks away from me and sets everything down on the patio table next to us. His movements are shaky, something clearly bothering him. The ceramic makes a clattering sound against the glass tabletop before he resumes checking the food.
Why does he have to be so frustrating? If he’s not going to say anything, what’s the point of him saying he wanted to talk to me?
I have less than an hour before I leave for my shift, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my time skating around whatever is on his mind. I decide then to cut to the chase.
“Do you wanna tell me what exactly you wanted to discuss?”
“You can’t just chill, can you?”
“Brix,” I retort, void of any emotion at all. I’m sick of the fucking games.