PEYTON
I flinga shirt across the room and Reese laughs. “Not helping,” I say as I poke my head out of the closet.
Reese lays across my bed, feet dangling off the side, and holds up the most recent flying article between his thumb and forefinger. Then proceeds to twirl it like a lasso. Definitely not helping.
“I have never seen you so nervous about hanging out with a friend?”
I storm out of the closet, stomp across the lush carpet and stop in front of him. Hands on my hips, I pin him with what feels like my shut up glare. And what does he do? He laughs harder.
I snatch the shirt from his hand. “And I’ve never seen you be such a jerk. But here we are.”
“Ouch.” He sits up and presses a hand to his heart. “You wound me.”
“No.” I smack his bicep and a hiss leaves his lips. “But now I have.”
He rubs the red palm print on his arm and inspects it far too long. “That really hurt.”
“Then I hope you never get into any physical altercations.” I riffle through the shirts on the bed in the hopes one will stand up and say pick me. But shirts don’t stand up. Nor do they speak. “Will you please help me?” I give Reese my best pouty lips and sad eyes.
“Peyton…” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “We aren’t teenagers anymore. This is not a date. Quit thinking you need to look perfect. He said it’s a group of friends hanging out. Right?” My eyes on his, I nod. “Just be comfortable. Throw on your favorite jeans and graphic tee. Pick a hoodie to take, just in case.”
“Ugh.” I fall face-first into the mountain of shirts. Inhale the lavender detergent and dryer sheet scent as I take a deep breath. The smell does little to calm me. “Why did I agree to this?” My voice garbled by the cotton.
A warm hand rubs up and down my back. Slow and steady and rhythmic.
Reese has always had the touch. A way to soothe me without effort. If he felt like less of a sibling, our relationship could have been much different. But I love Reese how he is and who he is in my life. He has been my foundation for years. The friend who walked home with me in middle school. Who shared corny jokes and never held anything back. The friend who took my hand in high school, came to my defense and never let me down. Who let me cry in his arms while he stroked my hair and reassured me everything would work out.
Even now, while he razzes me, it isn’t meant to be serious. More like an icebreaker. A joke to lessen the anxiety wreaking havoc in my veins.
“Because you’re a glutton for punishment,” he muses. I lift my head and give my best death stare. “Joking.” He lifts his hands in defense. Then his expression turns more serious. “Honestly, you always try to see the best in people. Even those who have wronged you.” He shrugs and toys with the shirt in his hands. “You talking and hanging out with Micah, that’s you giving him another shot. A chance to make amends.”
I hate when Reese is right. When he turns somewhat philosophical on me. Makes me see the truth behind my actions. They aren’t bad truths. But speaking them aloud can be jarring.
I wiggle into a sitting position and lift my eyes to his. “Guess you make a valid point.” He opens his mouth and I slap my palm over his lips. “Don’t you dare.”
“Wha—?” he mumbles against my skin.
“Say I told you so.” I pull my hand away.
“I wasn’t—”
“And don’t lie.” My finger jabs his direction, inches from his face.
Reese’s booming laughter echoes off the walls. “Fine, I was. Can’t help myself.”
My palms slap against his chest, then shove him back. “Always such a pain in my ass.”
“You love me.” He winks.
I sit back on my haunches and stare at the mess on my bed. “And if you love me, you’ll just tell me what to wear. Isn’t that what besties are for?”
“Like a fifth of the time.” He sticks his tongue out and makes a face at me. “But sure, I’ll help.” Searching the hurricane of cotton on my bed, he plucks a shirt from the pile. “Wear this with your black boyfriend jeans and all-black Chucks.”
The shirt lands on my head and shields my eyes. “Hey.” Reese just laughs. The bed shifts as I tug the shirt off. I jump up and follow him to the door. “Thank you.” His eyes soften. “I know this isn’t a date, but I’ve never felt this nervous about hanging out with people. And you always make me feel better. So, thank you.”
Reese lifts a hand, clutches my hair and gives a slight tug. “You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for.” He flashes his sweet smile. The one that only appears on rare occasions. “If he hurts you, though…”
“He’ll answer to you,” I finish.
“Damn straight.”
* * *
Reese all but shoved me out the front door and latched the security chain so I would leave.
Once I was dressed, he suggested I leave my hair down and put on minimal makeup. That was how I spent most of my days not at the club anyway. But when it actually came time to leave, I had second thoughts. Argued all the reasons I should stay home, slip on pajamas and eat pizza while watching Netflix. Reese wasn’t having it.
Nervous as I am, him shoving me out the door was a good thing. Sometimes, I need that push. And he knows when to deliver.
The music quiets in the car as the Australian male Siri voice chimes in and tells me to turn left in a quarter mile. Something about that voice makes cell phone navigation much more pleasant. I turn onto the street and the voice takes over the speakers again, telling me my destination is a hundred feet on the left.
But I don’t need to guess which house it is. Nope. Because there is only one house on the street with an overflowing driveway, cars in the yard and cars on the street.
Spectacular.
Two houses down, I park my SUV on the curb. Micah’s gray pickup is in the driveway, which can only mean he has been here quite some time. I tap my phone screen and check the time. Only ten minutes after he told me to arrive. Would have been here sooner if I hadn’t stopped up the street for bottled water.
One last deep breath. I grab my hoodie off the passenger seat, exit the car, and shove the fob in my pocket. Unlocking my phone, I type out a quick text to Reese.
Peyton: Why am I here? There’s like 10 cars.
Reese: Exaggerate much??