Page 20 of Falling into Place

Chapter Thirteen

Brooks

Just be yourself. Trust me—it’s better to learn up front you’re not compatible than fake it early on and realize your mistake when it’s too late and you’ve wasted both of your time.

—Carly Porter to Brooks Martin

Coach was in the doghouse.

After the man who was like a second father to Brooks had opened his big mouth, Brooks had spent the rest of the weekend thinking about their conversation.

And about Carly.

He got in his head about it, and it started wreaking havoc on his dates.

He went out with three women over the next two weeks, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from comparing each of them to Carly.

Wondering how she might have answered a certain question differently, or if she’d have been willing to order four appetizers from the brewery downtown and divvy them up as their meal (Danielle had not been so inclined).

Though, to be fair, the third date was a failure all on its own, without any inadvertent help from Coach or Carly.

Sasha partnered with several small businesses in the Paseo Arts District and suggested he take a date on a First Friday Gallery Walk, a monthly event where every store in the area stayed open late for the public to walk through their shops and stop at the various restaurants along the way.

He thought it sounded cool, so that’s where he invited Taryn, the graphic designer he’d been messaging, to meet him.

She showed up in some sort of sequin skirt and shiny red platform shoes, which seemed like a strange choice for a casual perusal of art galleries in a district that could only be described as full-on hipster.

Then again, he only looked presentable tonight because of Carly, and who knew what he’d have worn if left to his own devices. So he gave Taryn the benefit of the doubt.

The first stop was a gallery of sculptures, and Taryn giggled each time they passed any with partial nudity, earning side-eyes from the other observers.

She’s probably nervous. You’re a doctor and not everyone’s as comfortable with the human body as you.

He asked a few questions (he was basically a small-talk master by this point) as they made their way to the next gallery, some of which she answered and others he had to repeat because she was distracted, looking at her phone.

Wasn’t that, like, Rule Number One of a first date? No phones except for emergency? If it wasn’t, he’d motion for a formal addition.

At one point, she asked if they could go downtown to hit some clubs after this.

Apparently she had a DJ friend working the music at Shotz, and she liked getting there early to be close to the booth.

The dance floor got wild when the strobes started, a detail she’d imparted with the gravity of a business owner laying off her entire staff.

He’d never heard of Shotz—and yes, when she held up their Instagram page for him to see, he made note of the spelling. It didn’t sound like his scene at all.

Flashing lights and music so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think wasn’t his definition of a good time, not to mention he was a shit dancer.

Confusion seeped in, too, because hadn’t she said in her messages she liked folk and indie rock, like him?

He suggested they stay on Paseo a little longer, wondering how he’d get out of going downtown.

Their conversation was awkward and stilted, and he wondered how the hell they’d had such good conversations when messaging on the app over the past week.

Judging by tonight, they had absolutely nothing in common.

He even brought up Thunder basketball because she’d said in a message she loved going to games, but tonight she gave him a sort of nervous look and admitted to not going to any baseball games last year.

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, now more suspicious than confused. “The Thunder’s a basketball team. You said you were a huge fan, like me.”

She balled up her fists and pressed them together near her abdomen, shifting on her feet. “Okay, um ... There’s something you should know.”

Oh boy. “Okay.”

Her eyes darted to the sidewalk. “I wasn’t the one messaging you, exactly.”

They were blocking the crowd flow, so he moved closer to the building, gently tapping her elbow to encourage her to follow. “Sorry?”

“My, um, sister? She was the one talking to you. I saw you on that Sip surely she had plans.

Carly: Nope, you can come now.

Carly: Wait, didn’t you have a date tonight?

Brooks: yeah, it was Not Good TM

Carly: Oh no, what happened?

Brooks: don’t ask

He’d never been to Carly’s place and asked for her address.

She lived in an apartment just ten minutes away, and soon he stood outside her door.

He crossed his arms, then dropped them to his sides.

And reached up to smooth his hair. What was that tug behind his belly button, and why hadn’t he felt it two hours ago before meeting his date?

When she opened it to let him in, he took in her red cheeks and puffy eyes and went on high alert, everything in him going tense. “What’s wrong?”

It was that motherfucker Benjamin, wasn’t it? He’d never liked that guy. He’d never met him, but it didn’t matter.

She waved a hand with a sniff and a grin. “Nothing, I was just watching The Notebook . I was too invested to turn it off after you texted, but maybe I should have.” He stepped inside and she shut the door. “I cry every single time.”

He’d never understood that. “I’ve never cried at a movie,” he admitted.

She froze midstride. “Never?”

“Nope.”

Everyone has a weakness, Coach had said to him once.

He’d had a minor breakdown in the locker room after a visiting player taunted him with his mom’s death, and Coach had been his usual hard-assed self, trying to get him back out there.

The trick is to figure out what your opponent’s is but never let them see yours.

He hadn’t cried in public since. Not even at his dad’s funeral—he’d managed to keep the tears contained until he was in his car. Alone.

Carly just blinked at him. “Have you seen Titanic ?”

“Yeah.”

“ Marley and Me ?”

“Yep.”

“ Toy Story 3 ?”

“Close, but no dice.”

“ The Fault in Our Stars ?”

“How long is this gonna go on?”

“I’ve just never heard of such a thing.” She crossed her arms, and he registered the white tank top and black leggings she wore.

He’d never seen her in loungewear before.

Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a pair of clear-framed glasses.

Something about her natural, relaxed state and the crumpled tissues in her hand made him want to step closer and do something completely irrational, like pull her into his arms.

Or maybe that was residual protectiveness from seconds before when he thought she was missing her asshole ex-boyfriend.

He didn’t let himself consider the third option: Coach was right and he did, in fact, have a thing for Carly Porter. Seeing this whole pseudo- Bachelor thing to the end was important to him and his family, and sneaking off to mess around with his stylist wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“You look great, by the way,” she said. Her gaze tracked to his shoes and back up. “You must have an excellent stylist.”

“She’s okay.”

She arched a single brow.

“A little bossy, to be honest.”

She laughed. “You like when I tell you what to do.”

He did, actually. Which was strange, because he’d been ordered around so much in residency and fellowship that his absolute favorite part of being an attending was making the decisions on his own, independent of anyone else.

Sure, he always sought out advice when presented with a particularly difficult case, but asking for input was his choice.

With Carly, she pretended he had a say, but they both knew he didn’t.

“You look good, too,” he said without thinking.

“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed and she smiled at him. “So you’re really not gonna tell me about the date?”

“Not worth it. Trust me.”

“I’m sorry, Brooks. I’ve been there. Dating’s hard.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been what? Two months since Sasha put up that first post? Just two more to go.” He gave her a wide-eyed look and she laughed.

“Aren’t you supposed to be writing things up for her? About your dates or something? I don’t remember seeing anything last week.”

“Yeah, I texted her in a panic a few days ago because I’ve run out of things to say, so she said we could do it as a Q I’m not judging. I’ll take your word for it being the best. I never saw it.”

“You’ve never seen The Notebook ?” Her reaction was worse than when he’d said he thought he wasn’t supposed to wear black and brown together (all neutrals match, apparently).

“Nope.”

“Sit.” She pointed to the couch. “I’m starting it over.”