20. Levi

The neon glow of the ice cream parlor sign flickers. As I stop the car, Conrad's phone begins ringing. He glances at the screen and curses under his breath. "Can you handle her?"

"Conrad, I—" I start, but he's already stepping out to take the call, the door closing with a soft thud that seals me inside with Brielle.

"Levi…" Her voice, a sultry whisper, curls around my name. She's leaning over the center console, her lips parted in a pout that beckons me closer. I can smell the intoxicating mix of alcohol on her breath and the faint scent of her floral perfume. It's dizzying, the way she looks at me through those heavy-lidded eyes—like she's seeing straight through to every hidden desire I've pushed away.

"Please…" she begs, hands finding the fabric of my shirt, pulling me toward her with a drunken determination. "Let's get ice cream. With you. I want it…with you."

I swallow hard, the weight of responsibility pressing down on me even as something else stirs deep within—a wild craving I'm not supposed to have. I tell myself she's just drunk, that she doesn't mean it, but then there's the heat of her body so close to mine, the softness of her skin where it brushes against my arm, and the way her gaze holds mine through the rearview mirror with an intensity that burns.

"Alright, Brie," I relent, my voice rough with a cocktail of frustration and arousal. I slip from her grasp, pushing the car door open and stepping into the night air. It's cooler outside, but the heat follows me, radiating off Brielle's skin as I reach back in to help her out.

I shrug off my pullover, the fabric heavy with warmth from my body. Brielle shivers in her seat, her eyes wide and glossy from the alcohol still coursing through her veins.

"Here," I say, draping the jacket over her bare shoulders. "Can't have you parading around in just your underwear."

Underwear I'm trying hard not to look at.

A rosy blush spreads across her cheeks, a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. She murmurs a thank you that's barely audible. The jacket drowns her smaller frame, but it's a necessary shield against the night and prying eyes.

"Levi," she whispers, looking up at me with those damn vulnerable doe eyes. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

She nods, a clumsy gesture, and makes to step out of the car. But her feet tangle, and she stumbles, a quiet gasp slicing through the air. Instinct kicks in, and I catch her by the elbow, steadying her before she can hit the ground. My grip is firm, yet I'm careful not to squeeze too hard, aware of how fragile she seems right now.

"Easy there," I warn, my voice low. Every part of me screams to pull her close, to protect her from more than just the unforgiving pavement.

"I'm okay," she insists, though her wobbly legs betray her words. I don't trust it, not one bit. So I slide an arm around her waist, guiding her toward the ice cream shop with slow, deliberate steps. She leans into me, her head resting against my chest, and I feel her sigh flutter against my skin.

The bell above the door chimes a lazy greeting as we step into the cool hush of the ice cream shop. The scent of waffle cones and sugary sweetness wraps around us, a stark contrast to the night's earlier chaos. Brielle's eyes, wide and shimmering with a childlike wonder, dart across the rainbow of flavors showcased behind the glass.

"Levi," she breathes out, her voice a melody laced with indecision, "they all look so good. How do I pick just one?"

"Start with what you know you like," I suggest, my gaze fixed on her as much as the choices before us. Her lips part, then press together in concentration, the tip of her tongue peeking out as though she can already taste the ice cream.

"Chocolate…no, strawberry! Wait—mint chocolate chip?" She's a whirlwind of whimsy, each option tempting her more than the last.

I can't help but sigh, the sound rougher than I intend, as frustration nips at my patience. She's impossible—and yet, I find myself drawn to every facet of her unpredictability.

"Okay, enough," I decide, taking the reins before she can spin herself into another round of indecisiveness. I point to one of the tubs, creamy and speckled with beans. "Vanilla bean. Classic, never disappoints."

Her smile erupts, bright and blinding as the summer sun. "You know me so well," she says, and there's an innocence in her gratitude that punches straight through my chest.

"Two scoops of vanilla bean," I tell the disinterested teen behind the counter, who barely looks up from his phone. He shuffles to get our order, and I take the opportunity to study Brielle.

There's a flush to her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes that makes her seem almost otherworldly. And it hits me then—she's under my skin, and I'm in way too deep.

The clink of the ice cream scoop against the glass echoes in the near-empty parlor as the teenage boy finally hands us our treat. I grab the bowls, one in each hand, and lead Brielle to a corner booth, away from the judgmental eyes of anyone who might walk in. She wobbles on her heels, giggling like a fool, and I slide an arm around her waist to steady her.

"Here, sit." My voice is more commanding than I intend, but I can't mask my irritation any longer. As she sinks into the cushioned seat, I slide in across from her, my frustration simmering just below the surface.

"Levi—" she starts, but I cut her off with a sharp look.

"Can you even remember half the things you did tonight?" I demand, my words laced with disbelief. "You swam, drunk, in your underwear. How can you be so…reckless?"

Her smile falters, and she looks down at her bowl, her fingers playing with the edge of my jacket. There's a vulnerability there that almost softens me. Almost. "I don't understand why you care."

Neither do I. "I don't. It's just stupid."

"Levi, you always call me stupid," she whispers, and the hurt in her voice tightens something in my chest. "It's like…it's like you hate me one second and then you…" Her voice trails off, but I can fill in the blanks. I know exactly what she means, and it gnaws at me.

"Kiss you the next?" I finish for her, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze lifts, meeting mine head-on, a silent challenge. "You make me feel like I'm nothing to you, Levi. Nothing but a stupid girl you can toy with when it suits you."

Her words are a sucker punch to the gut. I stare back at her, the icy sweetness of the vanilla bean forgotten, melting around my spoon. I want to rage, to deny, yet the honesty in her eyes pins me to my seat. She's right. I've been walking this tightrope of desire and disdain, never fully choosing a side.

"Is that really how you see it?" I ask, my voice rough with emotion. It's not a confession, not an apology, but it's all I can manage without tearing open a world of complications.

"Sometimes," she admits. "Sometimes that's exactly how it feels, Levi."

The heat from Brielle's thigh sears through the fabric of my jeans as she slides it against my leg, a silent plea etched in the gesture. Her eyes, heavy with more than just alcohol, lock onto mine. I'm caught, trapped in their emerald depths that flicker with candor and want.

"Levi," she breathes out, her voice laced with a drunken slur but underscored by a sharp edge of seriousness. "Don't mess with me. If you want me, take me. If you've got someone else, then leave me the hell alone."

I know it's the alcohol making her say it, but that doesn't make the words have any less impact.

Words lodge in my throat, clogged and useless.

She scoops up another spoonful of ice cream, but as she brings it to her lips, a dollop lands precariously on the corner of her mouth. Instinctively, my thumb reaches out, grazing her soft skin, and I swipe away the creamy smear. The fleeting touch ignites something primal within me.

Her gaze snaps to mine, pupils dilated, breath hitched. The air between us crackles, charged with electricity. We're playing with fire, and neither of us seems willing—or able—to stop.

"Levi…" She whispers my name like a mantra, a call to action that tempts me to break every rule I've ever set for myself. I'm drowning in the sea of her need, and damn if I don't want to dive deeper.

"Shh," I murmur, trying to quiet the storm brewing inside us both. But the truth is, I'm just as lost as she is.

The bell above the ice cream shop door jingles, slicing through the thick tension between us. Conrad's figure looms in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the neon lights outside. I sense it before he even steps foot inside—the weight of something unsaid, an undercurrent of urgency that wasn't there before.

"Done with the ice cream?" His voice is steady, but his eyes are searching, probing for something beneath the surface.

Brielle nods, her spoon clattering against the empty bowl as she pushes it away. The sound echoes too loudly in the quiet space. She tries to stand, but her balance falters, and Conrad's arms are quick to steady her. There's a practiced ease in the way he supports her weight, his hands molding around her arms like they belong there.

Am I jealous?

"Let's get you back," Conrad murmurs to her, but his gaze lingers on me for a split second longer than necessary—a silent conversation passing between us.

I scoop up our trash. The crinkle of the paper napkins feels loud in my ears, every small noise amplified by the sudden shift in atmosphere. With one last glance at Brielle—her face buried in Conrad's chest—I toss everything into the bin.

Outside, the night air bites at my exposed skin, and I shudder, not just from the cold. We shuffle to the car. Conrad opens the back door, guiding Brielle into the seat with gentle firmness. Her head leans back, eyes closed, lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks.

"Thanks," she mumbles, barely audible as Conrad clicks the seat belt into place—a safeguard against more than just the road ahead.

"Of course," he replies, though his attention is already shifting, his thoughts churning behind an unreadable expression.

I reach over to close the door.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I flick the turn signal on, the tick-tock rhythm matching the erratic thump of my heart. The rearview mirror gives me a glimpse of Brielle—out cold. The alcohol finally got to her.

"Conrad," I press, keeping my voice level despite the urgency clawing at my insides, "talk to me. What's going on?"

He's staring out the window, jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitch. "Later, Levi," he mutters, his words clipped and heavy with something I can't quite decipher. "I have to finish up some work tonight, and pick up my car. Are you good to get her settled at our place?"

A nod is all I can muster, the silence returning, thicker than before.

There are questions burning on the tip of my tongue, but they die there, smothered by his unspoken plea for space.

* * *

I dropConrad off at his office on campus, and the rest of the drive back to the house is a blur of streetlights and stop signs. When I park, the world is quiet, save for the soft hum of the city at rest. I kill the engine and turn to wake her.

"Brielle?" I call softly, reaching over to brush a stray lock from her face. No response. "Bri?" I try again, louder this time, but she's lost to whatever dreams claim her in the drunken depths.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath. She's dead to the world, and I'm left with a choice I don't want to make.

Carefully, I slide my arms beneath her, lifting her against my chest. Her head lolls onto my shoulder, a silent trust that stings with responsibility. The cool night air bites at my skin as I carry her inside, her warmth a stark contrast.

The couch or my bed?

The debate rages with every step up the stairs to the front door. The couch is safer, less complicated. But in my bed, she'll be far more comfortable.

Besides, it would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

I kick open the door to the house, the decision made. My bed it is.

I lay her down gently, the moonlight casting a halo around her serene face. Tucking a pillow under her head, I stand back, watching her breathe.

I can only imagine the killer headache she's going to wake up with. I move to the kitchen and pull a glass out of the cupboard.

The water from the tap runs cold, numbing my fingers as I fill the glass. I pop out two ibuprofen from the blister pack before moving back to my room. She's still out, sprawled across my bed like she belongs there, in only her underwear. The sight sends a hot pulse through my veins.

I set the water and pills on the nightstand, my shadow looming over her.

"Levi…" Her voice is a whisper, raspy with sleep and something more—a plea laced with need, as she grabs ahold of my arm.

"Stay," she murmurs, eyes half-closed, not seeing the storm she stirs inside me.

"Brielle, no."

"Please," she begs, unwilling to let me go.

Something about the way she says it makes me listen. "Only until you fall asleep."

Her grip tightens, pulling me down. We're inches apart, her breath warm against my skin. I slide into bed beside her, her body heat seeping into the cold places within me.

"Thank you," she breathes out, her head finding the crook of my shoulder.

"Quiet now. Sleep." My voice is husky, a low rumble she nestles closer to. And as her breathing evens out, I'm left awake, wrestling with desires that claw at my restraint.