Chapter 8

Brandon

“ S o that’s it. We ate soup, and I read...”

Chase crossed his arms over his chest as he sat back in his chair. “It could have been a date.”

“But was it? We didn’t plan it. He showed up at the shop out of nowhere...”

“And he bought you the book and took you to lunch. Sometimes dates are spontaneous. I swear, if Nate planned everything, our sex life wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

I wrinkled my nose. Chase was easy to talk to, but since I’d gotten to know him a bit better over the last couple of months, I’d learned more about my friends’ bedroom preferences than I ever wanted to know. The two of them were daring, and I’d never dream of doing half the shit they’d done.

An argument broke out at the bar, causing both of us to turn around. Daniel’s arms were flailing as he yelled at Shawn. His face was so red while Shawn remained impassive. Well, not quite impassive, but more like smug that Daniel got so riled up.

“I better get back to work before those two either kill each other or get fired. It’s up in the air which will happen first.”

I laughed as Chase got up from the table and rounded the bar. He grabbed Daniel by the arm and dragged him through the double doors to the kitchen. Shawn shrugged, picked up a glass, and went back to cleaning it. What had they been fighting about now?

Shawn looked up and spotted me watching him. He grabbed a bottle and some mixer from the shelves and made a drink before bringing it over to me. “A tequila sunrise on the house.”

I took the glass and smiled. “I’m a little concerned about how often you comp our drinks.”

Shawn shrugged. “My dad owns the place. I figure as long as I don’t piss him off too much, I can treat my friends every once in a while.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him about Daniel, but it didn’t feel right. Instead, I took a sip of the drink and gave him a thumbs-up. It was sweet and disguised the liquor perfectly. I liked tequila, and it was typically my drink of choice. He must have noticed me order it whenever I’d come in.

“Thank you,” I said as I turned back to the table. Despite talking to Chase, I was still confused about what had happened the other day. Going out for lunch felt like it was more somehow, but that couldn’t be right. Maybe I was projecting because I wanted more, but this lifelong friendship thing was still holding me back. I really needed to get past that .

Then it hit me. I stared at the drink in my hand and then turned to look at Shawn, who was back at the bar, cleaning glasses. He looked up and winked. Was he flirting with me? There was no way.

My fingers fumbled for the phone in my pocket and, without thinking, I pulled up a text thread and shot off a message to Andrew.

Me: Do you think Shawn has a thing for me?

It took several minutes for him to respond. I had to think if he was at work or not, but I was sure he was off today. He’d been complaining about his boss cutting back his hours.

The dots danced across the display and disappeared several times before a message finally appeared on the screen.

Andrew: Why do you think he’s into you?

I let out a breath and looked over my shoulder again. Shawn was talking to another customer, and I tried to picture myself being with someone like him. He was nice, a huge flirt, and good-looking, but he didn’t really do anything for me.

Me: I don’t know. He keeps giving me free drinks every time I come in.

Andrew: Are you at Margaret’s right now?

I laughed as I set the phone on the table because I knew what Andrew was up to. He was going to blow in here in a few minutes and talk some sense into me because I was terrible at reading situations.

As predicted, Andrew walked in several minutes later.

Not two minutes after Andrew sat down, a drink landed in front of him. The same beverage that Shawn had brought to me. The grin spread across my best friend’s face before he started laughing. My face burned red at reading the room wrong, yet again. “What do I owe you for the drink, Shawn?”

When the usual ‘ It’s on the house ’ was uttered, I instantly deflated in my seat.

Andrew reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Don’t be embarrassed. I get why you’d think that way, but he’s like that with all of us.”

He was right, but it didn’t exactly make me feel any better.

What did make me feel better? That Andrew was here. There was just something about being around him that made everything feel good. And that really should have been my biggest sign.

When we finished our drinks, I plopped a ten-dollar bill on the table to make up for the free drinks and grabbed Andrew’s hand. “Come back to my place?”

He didn’t fight me as I pulled him out the door.

M aybe having Andrew in an enclosed space like this wasn’t the best of ideas because the second we walked in the door, he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into a hug. My body wanted to fight it, but it was only a hug. I didn’t know why I was acting like he was doing anything differently.

Hell, I’d just texted him after thinking another one of our friends was hitting on me.

When Andrew released me, I missed his smell immediately. All spice and warmth and everything comforting. He didn’t use all the all-natural stuff like I did, but I didn’t mind. What he used worked for him.

“So, what do you want to do now that we’re here?” Andrew asked as he walked over to the kitchen island and leaned against it.

Of course, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’d been more concerned with getting out of the restaurant and away from being embarrassed about Shawn. “I’m not sure. We always think of something.”

I joined him in the kitchen, and the grin he gave me was playful. He looked over at the fridge and I knew immediately what he was looking for. We’d already started drinking back at Margaret’s and, once we started, we often kept going.

Andrew pushed away from the counter, pulled the brand-new bottle of Jose Cuervo from the top of the fridge, and set it next to me. I stared at it before letting out an airy laugh. “It’s a little pathetic to just sit here and drink, isn’t it? ”

“Maybe, but it’s sort of our thing. The tequila, anyway. Do you have any shot glasses?”

It was a silly question. We did this often enough that he should know where they were. I bit my lip, fetching them from the cupboard, and then pulled out the two stools at the island. We sat across from each other and, like a dare, Andrew didn’t break eye contact as he unscrewed the cap to the bottle and poured us both a healthy shot.

I didn’t have any limes, but when it was just the two of us, it was as if we wanted to tough—the ones who needed nothing extra to take off the burn of the alcohol. Without thinking, I picked up my glass and tossed it back, grimacing as the sting hit my throat.

“Slow down. We don’t have to just drink it. Maybe a game?” Andrew suggested, his eyebrows raising as he waited for my response.

“Game?” We never played games. And something told me that this could get dangerous... and quickly.