Page 145 of June First
I’m sitting on the bright-blue sofa in Brant’s living room for two hours before the sound of jingling keys pulls me up straight and sends a colony of butterflies to my belly.
Will he be mad?
Will he be happy to see me?
He doesn’t know I’ve decided to move in with him yet. That was the purpose of our dinner meeting tonight.
I watch nervously as he pushes over the threshold with a weary sigh, tossing his car keys to the countertop and kicking off his shoes. He doesn’t notice me at first. He has no reason to think his sister would be standing in his living room after he returned home from a one-night stand.
My palms start to sweat.
Brant falters in the entryway for a beat, tousling his dark hair that’s clipped shorter on the sides but wild and untamed on top. Slightly curly. He looks tired as he stands there, just staring down at the small patch of ivory tiles that house two pairs of shoes.
I clear my throat.
His head shoots up, eyes squinting through the dim lighting, then widening when he registers my presence. He sucks in a breath, and we stare.
We stare at each other in silence, my heart in my throat.
My heart in his hands.
“June?”
Brant poses my name like a question, as if it could be anyone else but me. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he says softly. He shakes himself from the daze, taking slow steps forward and ruffling his hair again. “What, uh…what are you doing here?”
He wipes at his mouth.
My stomach pitches, envisioning that mouth on hers. “My answer is yes.”
“Your answer?” Another step forward. “To what?”
“Moving in with you.”
Dipping his gaze lower and to the left, he finally spots my overnight bags, still zipped and full. Still waiting for permission. He swallows, glancing back up at me. “Okay. Right.”
“Okay?” I nibble my lip, my fingernails leaving tiny crescents on my palms. “You’re not mad that I just showed up unannounced?”
“You’re always welcome.”
My throat feels like I swallowed needles as I take a few tentative steps toward him. “This was what I wanted to talk to you about,” I say. “At dinner.”
A flash of guilt lights up his eyes, and he ducks his head. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to stand you up, I just felt obligated to give her a ride home and—”
“Did you have sex with her?” I blurt out.
The air leaves the room as my cheeks flood with heat.
My knees are quivery, hardly stable.
My chest hums with prickling anxiety.
Brant is silent as the question echoes off the unfurnished plaster walls, his chin lifting back up as his eyes settle on me. It takes an eternity for him to reply. “No. It didn’t go that far.”
“You…you stopped it?”
I’m beyond pitiful. His sexual conquests are not my concern.