I crank up my pop music as I hit the highway going south, my heart thundering a million miles an hour in my chest as I start to put distance between Brooke and me, between her awesome girls and me, between a possibility of something I've never even glimpsed in my entire life and me.
“Shit, no way. No, no, no, Zayden,” I growl as I shove hair off my forehead and try to keep my attention focused out the windshield. No matter how hard I try though, I seriously cannot stop thinking about Brooke.
I start laying my reasons for leaving out again in my head. No money, no job, my condo, my friends, my lifestyle, Brooke's age, her inexperience, the two kids that she has.
And then I start feeling like, um, I'm a goddamn fucking mental patient.
A hot young girl who's smart as shit, who's trying her goddamn hardest to make a shitty situation work, basically told me she has a thing for me, a thing that I think I actually feel ten times harder than she does and yet, I'm bailing?
Is this the kind of person that I am? Is this who I want to be?
I pull the car over to the side of the road and take a deep breath, climbing out and putting my hands on my lower back while I pace in a circle and try to stop the sudden wave of panic washing over me. It's dark now, but there's not much traffic on this part of the highway, so I get a nice, long, dark moment to think by myself.
“Holy sweet baby Jesus, Hubert,” I say as I squat and look across the front seat into the passenger side of the car where my stupid hairless cat sits crouched in his kennel. He hisses at me, glaring with white-green eyes. “I'm such a fucking moron.” I stand up straight and dig my phone out, pressing call on Brooke's number and waiting anxiously, bouncing up onto my toes as I curse under my breath.
When her voicemail pops up, I start chattering.
“Airbnb.” That's the first thing I say which probably sounds dumb because come on, who opens up a … love confession? is this a love confession? … to somebody by mentioning a website where people rent out rooms and houses and shit. But to me, it makes perfect sense. I'll just put my condo on Airbnb, charge a ridiculous amount of rent to tourists who want to live like locals while they're in town. Of course, I'll probably get my shit stolen and the place burned down, but … hell. Hell, hell, hell. “That's what I'll do,” I tell Brooke's voicemail, praying she actually listens to hers. I know Jude leaves his voicemail full on purpose so he doesn't have to get any new ones or bother listening to them. “I'll rent out my place and I'll … I'll just hang out here for a while, if that's okay with you. I can even stay with my brother if you don't want me at your place.”
I pause and take a deep breath, realizing that I'm basically making zero sense right now.
“Okay, look, just call me back, alright? I'll send you a text.”
I shoot a quick message to Brooke, telling her I'm on my way, and then I hop right back in my car and make a ridiculously illegal u-turn.
Aaaaaand yeah, I get a ticket—the cop looks at me like I'm crazy when I lay out my nutty romantic love story—but that's okay because Brooke's worth it. Totally fucking worth it.
Brooke's car is missing from the driveway when I pull up in my stuttering, janky ass Geo, climbing out and heading to the door to find Monica waiting with pursed lips.
“She's not here. She has work, remember? It was you that roped me into babysitting duties in the first place.”
I stare at the woman and I … kind of want to punch her in the face, but then, I don't hit chicks, even rich old ones who let their nieces drop out of a prestigious university program to come back to this shit hole town to take care of a pair of kids.
“Right, right. My bad,” I say, not wanting to tell Monica that I got her niece fired from a strip club last night. “I'll, uh, try back later.” I give the woman a flirty wink that makes her nose crinkle and turn on my heel, trying not to run back to my car as I go.
I don't know why, but I feel frantic, full to fucking bursting.
You're in love, bro.
I skid to a stop next to the Geo, opening the door and leaning my hand on the roof as the smell of fresh cat urine—thanks Hubert—wafts out and around me. It's not all that romantic standing there with the neighbor across the street glaring at me, and the cat hissing, and the old car's engine ticking, but it is what it is.
I'm in love.
Love.
Mother Mary help me out here.
I breathe out in a long, hard whoosh and climb in, not entirely sure where it is that I'm going. After all, Brooke's only been back in town as long as I have, and we've both been busy. It's not like either of us has had time to develop local haunts.
But then it just hits me, like a football thrown by the NFL's future first woman QB to the back of the head.