Brea

Nathan and I spend the day cleaning and preparing the small little flat for me to move in. Sweat slides down the back of my neck as we push against the lounge. We have been at it all day yesterday, and all day today.

We are finally finished. Almost, anyway. It's been an incredible distraction from my thoughts. I've honestly been too busy to even think about Zander, but as I stop and turn, admiring our hard work, thoughts of him slowly start creeping back in. Swallowing, I push the thoughts of him to the back of my mind, too exhausted to think about him right now.

"It looks good," Nathan says, wiping his forearm across his forehead, then placing his hands on his hips.

"Yeah." I agree, letting my eyes travel around the small space. It is cosy, but now that it is clean and filled with my things, it feels a lot nicer than it did when I first stepped into it. "Did you see this?"

"See what?"

Inclining my head towards the bedroom, I lead him into it. Going over to the bedside table, I pick up the frame and hand it to him. It's a photo of Nathan and I bareback on one of dad's horses. He is standing beside the horse, his hand on its neck. Nathan is squinting toward the camera, and I'm missing my two front teeth as I beam at mum. She isn't in the photo, but I remember she was the one to take it.

"Where did you get this?" Nathan asks.

"I took it," I say. "I had it in my room, and when we packed up and left, I took it with me."

Nathan runs his finger down the photo for a moment, looking lost in thought, before handing it back to me.

"When I think back to all of us being a family, I wonder if I imagined the entire thing," he says softly.

"Me too," I murmur. "I can't believe she packed up her life and just left like that."

"And took her favourite kid."

Ice prickles my skin. "That's not what happened."

"Yeah. It is."

"It is probably because I am a girl," I reply, twisting my fingers together. "Maybe she thought bringing me was easier."

"No," Nathan sighs, turning his cap over in his hands before shoving it onto his head. "She didn't take me because I'm messed up like her."

"Messed up?" I question with a frown.

Nathan taps his head. "Too much like her. Broken."

I stiffen a little. Nathan has never spoken like this or acknowledged anything to do with his mental health before.

"You're not broken, Nathan."

"I'm not right, Brea." He says, refusing to meet my gaze. "What goes on in here," he continues, hitting his head roughly. "It's not normal."

"What even is normal, Nathan?" I ask. "Everyone's normal is different to someone else's."

"If you say so."

"Bipolar," I say. "You have bipolar, don't you?"

He offers me a tight-lipped smile. "How'd you guess?"

"Because mum had it, too," I whisper. "Didn't she?"

Nathan nods slowly. "Yep. She sure did."

Blowing out a breath, I nod. "I'm sorry that she was never around to support you. And neither was I."

"You hardly had a choice in the matter."

"Still. I'm sorry."

"Me too," he replies his voice a little hoarse.

A heavy silence settles over us as we walk back to the lounge room. The flat looks vastly different to the only I have in the city. There, I had a beige aesthetic, everything was new, stylish, and trendy. Now, the furniture that surrounds me is mismatched, second hand, and worn. But I like it. It feels more like a home than that lifeless apartment does.

"Thank you for all your help. I couldn't have done it without you," I say, smiling at my brother.

"You're welcome. Can I use the shower?"

"Sure." I say, gesturing to the linen cupboard. "Help yourself to whatever you need. I'll order us some dinner."

By the time I get back with dinner, Nathan is sprawled out on the lounge, flicking through the channels on the T.V. I spread the containers on the coffee table before collapsing beside him. We load up our plates in silence, and I distractedly watch the T.V.

"So," Nathan begins, clearing his throat. "You talked to him?"

"Who?" I ask, avoiding his eyes.

"Don't play dumb," Nathan mutters. "I heard he came into my restaurant. Must have really wanted to talk to you to cross enemy lines."

"It doesn't matter. I'm over him," I say with a lot more confidence than I truly feel.

Flashes of his devilish smirk, and his hands on my body burn into my mind. I stab my fork into my food far more aggressive than necessary. Nathan eyes the fork, his lips curving.

"Right. Seems like it." He says with amusement.

"It isn't going to work out."

"Why's that?"

"He doesn't do serious relationships, and I don't do casual."

"Why do you need to put a label on it?" Nathan questions, shoving a forkful into his mouth, spilling half of it down his shirt.

"Because I don't want him to just sleep with me and then toss me to the side after," I huff, my cheeks heating.

"Is he really going to do that?" Nathan asks, raising an eyebrow. "Look, I don't like the guy. He's a stubborn asshole. But he has never chased a woman. Ever. Until you."

Chewing my food, I glare at the T.V. Although my brother has a point, I still don't trust Zander not to break my heart.

"I don't want to be hurt again," I say softly. "And I think he has the potential to hurt me. Badly."

"I get that," Nathan says. "But there is no reward, without a little risk."

A comfortable silence settles after that as we finish dinner. I mull over his words in my mind.

Maybe he has a point...

***

It's been over a week and I have successfully avoided Zander majority of it. Considering how outrageously tiny this town is, I thought that was impressive. I assume it has worked out that way, since he is also avoiding me.

I'm out on my front porch, mid-Pilate session, when a shadow crosses over me.

"Can't complain about this view," a deep voice says that sends a shiver down my spine.

Scrambling to my feet, my cheeks flame. I had to be doing that kind of position as he pulls up.

"How do you even know where I live?" I raise an eyebrow, looking up at him, feeling a strange swooping sensation in my stomach when our gazes connect.

He gives me a deadpan look. "I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."

"Right," I scoff. "What do you want?"

Pulling out two tickets from his pocket, he waves them in front of him. "I'm taking you to the game. Remember?"

"I assumed you'd take someone else," I reply flatly, resuming with my Pilates, avoiding any movements or positions that might make the ever-present tension between us climb even higher.

"Why would I do that?" He frowns, genuinely looking confused at that. Honestly, I hadn't thought much about the game, having been too caught up with everything else that has been happening.

"Because we aren't friends, or a thing, or whatever the hell was going on between us," I huff, throwing my arms across my chest, losing patience and focus too much to continue with the Pilates. I'm not exactly feeling relaxed right now.

"Well. I want us to be," he says, and I feel my inside melt at his comment, although I try my best not to show it.

"I don't."

His dark brow raises. "Is that so?"

"Yup."

"I think you're lying," he challenges, taking a step closer to me. I lift my chin, narrowing my eyes, refusing to budge my stance.

"Just leave me alone, Zander."

"No."

"No?" I echo.

"No," he repeats, standing his ground. "I want to take you out and prove to you that it's you I care about. I want you."

My heart beats loudly in my ears. "What?"

"I want this," he says. "All of this. All of you." Raking a hand through his hair, he steps even closer. "I've never wanted anyone before, and now I realise it's you. I want someone like you. I need someone like you."

"But you don't do relationships, or girlfriends..." I trail off, frowning.

"I do now."

My jaw drops open at his words. Swallowing, I straighten, trying to get my racing heart to slow. Sweat slides down my back as the heat of his gaze bores into me with severity, making the warm temperature skyrocket.

"So get ready," he says. "I'm taking you out."

Half an hour later, we are on our way. Zander is dressed in a crisp white t-shirt, and plain jeans. He's wearing a hat of the team he is going for backwards on his head, looking completely and utterly edible.

For the first time in over a week, I don't feel stressed, or anxious. Finally, I feel light, and a little excited, although I'm trying not to get my hopes up, incase it all comes crashing down around me again.

Letting go of the resentment I had built up towards him, I found that I was having a lot of fun. He really is easy to talk to. I like that he is funny, making me laugh at the most basic, stupid things.

When we pull into the carpark, as I am fumbling with my bag, he opens the door for me and unbuckles my seatbelt. I raise my eyebrows as he flashes me charming grin, holding out his hand. Taking it, I jump down from the truck. Swooping down, he plants a soft, tender kiss on my lips. It is so different to the rough, desperate kisses we usually share, leaving me with breathless longing.

"Did I tell you that you look beautiful?" he asks, eyes travelling down the dress that fits me like a glove. It's probably a little too dressy for a football game, but I wanted to make him sweat. The way he is looking at me makes me feel like it worked.

"Yes. You did." I reply, smiling.

"Well, I'll say it again," he says. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," I reply, a blush kissing my cheeks. "Should we go?"

"Yeah," he agrees, shutting the door and locking it.

With his hand on the small of my back—making me feel giddy—he guides me toward the entrance. After we get drinks, and snacks, we make out way to our seats. The stadium is packed with people, bright lights flashing onto the grass, and cheerleaders dancing and flipping around the field.

"Well, I'm glad you made me come," I say once we sit down, making ourselves comfortable.

"You'll be thinking the same thing later," he replies smoothly, not missing a beat as he takes a long sip of his drink, making me choke on my own, heat jumping from my neck to my cheeks.

Thoughts of Zander making good on those words has me unable to focus very well on the game. Shaking my head, I try to force all images from my mind, trying to not let myself get too wrapped up in the possibility of later.

"Someone is awfully sure of themselves," I mutter, attempting to show indifference to that comment, although it is extremely obvious that I am not.

His arm moves around the back of my chair, his fingers lightly touching the end of my hair.

"You know I can deliver, Angel," he murmurs, his voice deep and rich, causing goosebumps to scatter across my skin.

That I do.

After a few minutes, my shoulders relax, and I feel a little less wound up. Zander was right, the atmosphere of being here, live watching the game, is really fun. We talk, we laugh, and it feels good. Really good. After a few vodka lemonades, my head feels a little light and floaty.

During half-time, Zander turns to me, a serious expression crossing his face.

"Would you stay here?" he asks, eyes staring into mine a little too intensely. The bozz of alcohol hums through me, making me feel bubbly and giggly, but I try not to look as tipsy as I feel.

"I'm enjoying the game and all, but I don't really think hanging around once it all finishes seems like a fun idea," I joke lightly.

Rolling his eyes, he gives me a pointed stare. "In Glendale, I mean."

Swallowing, I glance away, realising I am twisting my fingers together. A nervous habit I have always had.

"Maybe," I say softly. "If I have enough reason to."

"You know you have a job guaranteed with me, if you need it," he says.

"I wouldn't mind working at the florist that my mum used to own," I say. "I always wanted to, when I was a kid."

Zander looks thoughtful for a moment. "I could see you doing that. You'd be good at it, I'm sure."

Beaming under his words, I shrug lightly. "Thanks."

"Anyway, you can still work for me. Until you figure things out."

I breathe a laugh. "I don't work for you anymore."

"Yes, you do," he growls, pressing his leg against mine.

"No, I don't," I reply in a similar tone, smirking. "I work for the competition."

He scoffs. "You'll come crawling back in no time."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." His eyes travel down my body. "I can offer you something they can't."

A delicious shiver runs down my spine. My God, I am so highly attracted to this man. I've never felt anything like it.

"What's that?" I ask, my mouth going dry.

"I'm better at showing, not telling," he smirks.

My heart skips a beat at the heat in his eyes. When the cheering crowd starts up again, I know the game is about to resume. I'm definitely not going to be able to focus now.

It seems like the second half of the game is over in a blink. As we make our way through the crowd, we head out to the main drag where the restaurants are.

"You keen for dinner before we head back?" he asks.

My stomach growls at the mention of food. I realise now that I didn't have anything for lunch, and that's why I feel so lightheaded from the drinks.

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good," I say.

It seems like a lot of the crowd that attended the game tonight has the same idea. The lines waiting outside the restaurants are growing by the second, and we manage to find one that isn't already full. Zander pulls my chair out for me, and I grin.

"Why thank you."

Now that we are seated across from one another, and not side by side, those dark eyes are fixed purely on me, making me feel flustered. His mouth curves into something between a smile, and a smirk, as he notices me squirming in my seat.

"So," Zander says, leaning his forearms onto the table as he picks up a menu, stretching his fingers toward me, tilting one in my direction. I take it from him. "Did you enjoy your first ever live football match?"

"It was pretty cool," I reply, a genuine smile finding its way onto my face. "I get what you mean now. About the atmosphere."

Zander seems happy with that. The two of us probably look weird, smiling non-stop, on the verge of nervous giggles, but I can't help it. I'm a little drunk, I'm a little nervous, but I'm also having a great time.

"That's good. We might have to organise another one," he says, and I try not to show just how much I like the idea of that.

We order our food and I decide to get a water for the table, because if I drink more right now, I'll go from relaxed and flirty, to downright silly. I don't want to ruin the night by getting too drunk, which is quite easy for me to do, since I have always been a lightweight.

Considering how busy the place has become, our meals arrive promptly. Zander shakes his head when the food is placed down in front of us. Back in Glendale, there is a minimum thirty-minute wait, if not more, since there is only ever one chef on, but here, there is an abundance of staff milling around through the tables. We have been checked on at least four times now, and I can see Zander growing frustrated with it.

"It's bloody loud in here," he mutters, rubbing his neck. His eyes shift toward the next table, at the man holding a beer. I can tell he wants one. He has admitted more than once that he leans too relies on alcohol too heavily to help him destress. He agreed to drive us there and back tonight, but I can tell he is itching for an alcoholic drink. Maybe he is as nervous as I am.

"We can order an uber home, or get a hotel," I say, noticing him pulling at the collar of his shirt, even though it isn't tight. "If you want to relax and have a drink."

His eyes snap toward me, and he flushes. It's the first time I've ever seen that kind of reaction from him. I tense in my chair, realising that I may have just embarrassed him by making the assumption he is desperate for a drink. It is stuffy in here, and it is loud. Maybe the thought of having a drink wasn't even on his mind.

"We don't have Ubers that will go all the way out there, and I doubt there is any vacancies after the game," he says, a little gruffly, refusing to meet my eyes as he continues eating.

Shrinking a little into my seat, I nod, feeling awkward, and unsure of what to say next. We eat in silence, and it seems to only get hotter and louder as the night goes on.

"What is your favourite colour?" I blurt out randomly, just to say something.

His hand pauses midway between his plate and his mouth as he blinks at me. Slowly, he shovels the food into his mouth and chews for a moment.

"I don't have one," he replies.

Frowning, I lean back in my chair, staring at him. "Everybody has one."

"I don't."

"Yes you do!" I argue. "There has to be one colour you like."

Shrugging, he loads up his fork. "I guess if I have to pick one, I would say black. And I don't care if you say that isn't a colour."

"Of course," I roll my eyes. "Of course it is."

"Well, what's yours, then?" he asks.

"Lilac."

Zander nods. "I probably could have guessed that. You were that colour a lot."

A blush kisses my cheeks at the thought of him paying attention to my clothes, and outfit choices.

My phone vibrates, the screen brightening. Glancing down at it, I see a message from Gianna, one of my close friends.

Gianna: OMG!!! Did you see??

Frowning, I exit the message thread and click on Facebook. The first post that pops up is Olivia, standing on the beach, dangling her hand directly in front of the camera, sporting a flashy engagement ring. My jaw drops.

"I said YES!!! I am going to be marrying my best friend!"

The next photo is a kissing one, of Olivia and my not-so-long-ago ex-boyfriend. My mouth feels paper dry as I blink down at the screen.

You've got to be joking.

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