She cocks her head thoughtfully. "Something about et tu, Brute?"
"Dork," I mutter. She tries to pretend she's dumb, but I know better. And I also know how much she hated the ending of Romeo and Juliet when we read it in high school. I had to listen to her rant for a solid twenty minutes about what a selfish, immature idiot Juliet was. That might not seem like a long time, but it's probably the longest single block of time I've ever witnessed Bailey focus on anything that doesn't involve a hot guy.
"This isn't Shakespeare," she says, her voice softening. "It's your life."
"Exactly. And I'm not stupid, selfish, immature Juliet."
"So that leaves Brogan. The sexy, goofy, charming Adonis."
"And Arrow's best friend."
"Fair enough." She sighs. "So does this mean neither Blackhawk boy will be initiating you to the pleasures of being a young woman?"
"Sorry to say, but I really appreciate your concern for my sexual health."
She bumps my hip with hers again, and I giggle.
"Speaking of sexual health and relationships . . ." I clear my throat. "You want to talk about what's happening between you and Mason?"
She arches a brow. "I think you already know what's happening between us. We weren't, um, quiet about it, as you and Arrow pointed out."
"What's going on other than the hot monkey sex?"
"It's just fun. He knows that."
"Bail."
She kicks a piece of gravel with her purple Chuck Taylor. "What?"
"This isn't about Nic, is it?" I shake my head. "Don't throw away a chance with a great guy because you're waiting for my loser brother to get out of prison."
"I didn't say anything about waiting for Nic."
"You didn't have to," I whisper. I find her hand at her side and squeeze it. "I love my brother, but he's made his own choices, and they weren't good."
"I know." Her jaw has gone tight, just like it does every time we talk about Nic.
"I don't want to see his bad decisions drag you down."
She tilts her chin and studies the sky. Her eyes sparkle in the light of the three-quarter moon. "I know, Mee. And I'm trying to move on. I promise."
Two weeks later . . .
When I park the car at the quarry south of town, I can already hear the laughter on the other side of the rocks. The sound makes me tense, but I promised Bailey I'd come if she got an A on her calc test. Because she's way freaking smarter than her grades would indicate, I knew she could do it if she put her mind to it. So here I am.
It's not that I'm antisocial. I actually love hanging with Bailey. But since she started going to BHU this fall, I cringe at the thought of her group gatherings. I don't fit in with her friends from the university. While she might not care how they view a townie from the trailer park, I can't ever get past what different worlds we come from. I tried to bring it up with Bail once, and she suggested-very politely, because she is my best friend-that I get over myself.
With a deep breath, I tuck my phone in my pocket, climb from the car, and begin navigating the rocky mound that separates the gravel lot from the old quarry. An autumn chill hangs in the air, and I'm glad I dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Because of the water and privacy, this spot is an old favorite for parties anytime the temp's above freezing. Bailey said she and Mason are building a bonfire by the water tonight. It should be nice, actually. Assuming I can get over myself.
"Oh. Hey."
I look up toward the deep voice and see Brogan standing on a rocky ledge that overlooks the lake. He's dressed in a BHU Football sweatshirt and jeans that hug his narrow hips, and his smile falters as he takes me in.
"You didn't know I'd be here, did you?" He tucks his hands into his pockets. "I told Bailey to let it go, but she's . . . determined. I wouldn't have come if I'd known. I don't want to make you feel awkward."
"No, I didn't, but . . ." I glance around to take in the group and recognize Mason, Chris, and a couple of girls I've seen hanging out on Bailey's floor in her dorm. He belongs here more than I do. "I'm not avoiding you. I'm sorry if I made you feel that way."
He grins, showing off his straight white teeth. He really is handsome. "Can I get you anything to drink? We've got beer and vodka, and some fruit that's been soaking long enough that it'd probably knock you on your ass."
I shake my head. "I'm driving."
His grin mellows to a softer smile. "Bailey said you were very responsible."
I arch a brow. "Is that a bad thing?" Well, crap. Now I sound defensive.
"Do you have any idea how many drunk girls I see on campus every weekend? And that's fine. We're young. I get it. But I don't know." He shrugs. "It's refreshing, honestly, to meet a girl who doesn't think she has to drink half a bottle of cheap vodka to make friends."
"Thanks, I guess."
He opens his mouth, but his reply is cut off by Bailey's scream from the other side of the fire. "She's here!" She hustles over and wraps her arms around me, squeezing. "I'm so glad you're here. Brogan's here, too, but I see you already saw that."
"Are you trying to play matchmaker, Bail?"
She grins and shimmies back toward the fire. "No idea what you're talking about." Mason grabs her from behind and wraps her up in his arms. Squealing, she spins and kisses him in that long, open-mouthed way that makes you wish you weren't watching.
Sighing, I look to Brogan. "Are they like that all the time?"
He makes a face. "Pretty much. I mean, we've all started walking around the dorm room with our eyes closed and earplugs in, so I can't tell you for sure."
I laugh. "God, no one could blame you." We walk toward the fire, and I take a seat on the grass close enough to hear the crackling of the burning wood and feel the heat, but not so close that I'll feel like I have a sunburn. I pat the patch of grass beside me and look up at Brogan. "Wanna keep me company? Looks like Bailey might be otherwise occupied tonight."
He grins and drops down to sit by my side. "It would be my pleasure."
I tilt my head to the side. "Thanks for being nice to me."
He frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I've kind of been a bitch to you."
The corner of his mouth twitches as he bites back a smile.
"What?" I ask. "What's that look for?"
"No offense, Mia, but I don't think you know how to be a bitch. And besides, there's nothing bitchy about turning down a guy who doesn't interest you."
I frown. "Who said you didn't interest me?"
He lies back on the grass and threads his fingers through his hair as he stares up at the sky. "This conversation is awkward. You know that, right?"
Sighing, I lie beside him, shivering a little when my shoulders hit the cold grass. "Totally awkward."
"Tell me something about yourself." He rolls his head to the side so he's looking at me. "Anything."
"Is this you asking about foot fungus again?"
He chuckles. "No. It doesn't have to be something bad. Just something I don't know."
"I sing." The words take me by surprise, and I bite my lip while I try to figure out how much I want to say about it. "It's not a secret or anything. I go to open-mic night at the Vortex a couple of times a month. I've always loved it. I don't remember a time it wasn't something I looked forward to."
He turns onto his side and studies my face. "I bet you're amazing. Are you going to school for music?"
"Terrace doesn't exactly have a music department." I shake my head, suddenly embarrassed that I shared this much. "It's just a hobby. It doesn't mean anything."
He grunts. "I know all about that lie, Mia. It's like when I tell people football isn't a big deal to me, that it's just a way to get part of my tuition paid while having fun. But nobody works this hard for something they don't care about."
"It's your thing."
He grins, and my stomach does a little flip-flop at what a good smile he has and how it feels to have that smile directed at me. "Yeah. It's totally my thing. And singing is yours, but I'm not going to be that guy who tells you to go after the dream. I know it's more complicated than inspirational posters make it out to be."
After talking to Arrow and seeing the intensity in his eyes when he talked about his thing, it's a relief that Brogan understands. As a Woodison, I'm sure Arrow's never given a second thought to whether or not he should chase his dreams. We're not all that lucky.