Page 21 of Give In

But they’d pressed upward, choking me until I’d had no choice but to open my mouth and spill my limited truths.

In a long, breathless rush, I’d told Brooks I couldn’t be anything more than casual. We could still see each other, but it’d be no strings attached.

I’d blamed my work. My hectic schedule. I’d shown my regret and hid my lies.

Brooks had taken it well. He’d been open about his disappointment, but not in a guilt trip way.

At his sweet understanding, the truths I’d kept in had stabbed my heart, mocking me. Taunting me with my own stupidity.

Because it wasn’t just my schedule or secrets that kept me from enjoying time with Brooks.

It was my selfishness.

Growing up the way I had, I hadn’t seen sizzle and crackle. Hell, there hadn’t even been an occasional burst of heat.

Cold, cold, cold.

Determined to live differently, I’d promised myself sizzle and crackle. I’d vowed to never settle, refusing to give up my dream of all-encompassing heat. Of love and passion, wild desire and blind want.

I liked Brooks, and he made me feel… nice. Which was good. There were people who would be thrilled with nice. I should’ve felt lucky to have it.

But I wasn’t. I needed more.

My promise had been naïve when I’d made it, and it still was then. By keeping things casual, I was potentially throwing away something good so I could chase a feeling I wasn’t sure even existed.

Looking up at him in the classroom, I wished again that I could’ve ridden the high of normality for a little longer.

As if reading my mind, Brooks said, “I know you said Saturdays are busy at work, but there’s this party—”

“I’ll call off,” I blurted impulsively, my want beating my common sense.

Brooks’ brows raised, as did the corners of his lips. “Really?”

No. Tell him no. Back-pedal like there’s a demonic snake on the path.

“It sounds fun,” I said.

“Awesome.” He sat and leaned closer. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Can’t wait,” I whispered as Professor Caine began speaking. Biting my lip, I tried not to grin as I looked at my laptop.

I’d never missed a shift, but I wanted to go drink cheap beer and hang out with a cute boy.

I wanted one last chance to play make believe.

*******

“All-knowing Wardrobe Expert!” I yelled to Tonia, flipping through my closet. “Frat party is totally jeans and a t-shirt thing, right?”

A few seconds later, she filled my doorway, looking wise and enigmatic as she flipped her hand. “Totally. Or not.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“I really am, yes.”

“Super helpful, thanks.”

Taking pity on me, she imparted wisdom like a fairy godmother of fashion. “Frat parties are a mix of everything. Girls bust out their miniest of minis. Others go opposite and wear sweats. There’s an old joke about how you can tell which year a girl is by how she dresses. The freshmen are done to the nines, while seniors are in their PJs. Anything is acceptable.” She nudged me out of the way. “Let the master work.”