Page 63 of Burden of Proof

Smith put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. Some EDM bumped through the speakers, too low to hear the melody but loud enough to feel the bass of it. I swallowed hard, wiping my palms on the tops of my jeans.

“I just don’t want it to be weird.”

“If I didn’t think the way you’re affectionate with my other brother’s boyfriend was weird, I don’t think you actually dating another would be.” Smith threw me a sidelong glance as we cruised through a green light. “I never had any delusions that you and I were anything besides what we were. It would be weird for you tonotdate my brother. I mean, if you were interested in him.”

I arched a brow.

“Because that would mean we’d lied to each other about what we are,” he explained, shrugging up one shoulder. “I just want to make sure you’re serious about him.”

Palm trees flew by, and I was very close to telling Smith exactly just how serious I was about his brother, but being in love after a week or two was probably the biggest red flag to ever red flag.

“Your brother is a good man,” I said. “I’ll do right by him. At least, as right as I can.”

That seemed to be satisfactory, judging by the quiet way Smith’s jaw clicked after I finished speaking. I stared out the window as Smith drove us out of my part of town and into his. The strip malls were nicer, taller, whiter. The neon signs were crisp and clean fonts, a sharp contrast from the bright mismatched colors of my neighborhood. Eventually, we pulled up in front of a nondescript looking pet store, and Smith cut the engine.

“Do you think I’ll have a better chance of keeping a bougie fish alive?” I teased, unbuckling my belt.

“It’s your best shot,” he agreed, reaching over the console and sliding his hand around the back of my neck. His fingers were warm and long, and he hauled me toward the center console, pressing our foreheads together and letting out a long breath.

My first reaction was to tense up, worried that Smith was going to kiss me, which…would have been fine. It wouldn’t have meant anything, even if that might have been a blurrier line than some of my other ones. He didn’t kiss me, though. He didn’t hug me either. He only held me there, our noses brushing together and our breath mingling in the very small space between our mouths.

“Hey,” I whispered, reaching up and covering his hand with mine.

“Hey.”

And still, no movement. I lifted my other hand toward his face, my thumb grazing over his cheek while my fingers stretched around the side of his neck. Smith let out a little moan, leaning into my hand while still keeping our foreheads in close contact together.

“Just another minute,” he murmured.

I exhaled, shoulders relaxing.

“I get it,” he finally said, giving my neck a squeeze before extricating himself from the car. I chuckled, following him out and onto the sidewalk in front of the store.

“Get what?”

“The affection thing.”

Stepping up beside him, I hooked my arm through the crook of his elbow, pulling him toward the door.

“It’s nice to know you’re not alone sometimes,” I said.

He nodded, holding open the door to the pet store for me.

We walked inside and were met with more white, more uniform displays, more minimalism. It looked like the antithesis of a pet store to me. No kibble on the ground, no bright and squeaky pet toys lining racks along the wall.

“This place is very beige,” I said.

“Mostly.”

Smith walked us to the back of the store where the beige finally gave way to a massive wall of colored fish. Some in large aquariums and some in small take-home containers. They were all stacked in the wall like a rainbow mosaic.

“Oh,” I breathed out.

Smith laughed, untangling our arms so I could browse the wall freely.

There were fish in the wall I’d never even heard of and probably could never afford, but mixed in with all of those were the occasional goldfish and the brightly colored bettas. I walked the wall three times, scanning from top to bottom, middle to bottom, top to middle. This was my second chance at having a fish, and it was probably also my last chance. If Cassandra Jr. didn’t make it, I was sure there would be no third attempt. I needed to pick a fish who would survive the transfer, but I didn’t want to ignore the sad little swimmers either.

“Hey.”