Page 53 of The Other Side

I owe her that much.

Her teeth roll over her lower lip as she averts her gaze. She scans the collection of neon signs decorating the wood paneling of the walls, only to say, “Do you at least like me, Brant? Because if I’m going to keep doing this, I have to kno⁠—”

“Yes,” I interject. “I like you very much, Julia.” She softens her expression, pivoting her head back to me. “And if I met you before I was eight years old, there’s a chance I could feel differently. There’s a chance I could feel a lot more.”

Her chest swells beneath her short-sleeve crop top. “Why?” she breathes.

“Because when I was eight years old, I met a girl who stole my heart,” I admit. “And she’s never given it back.”

Her eyes dip to my neck, a tiny epiphany glittering through her trance. “That necklace is for her, isn’t it?”

When she travels her gaze back up, I battle a tight swallow. “I’m trying to get you as close to me as I can, but my body is the limit. It’s all I can offer you, Julia,” I say. “And if I didn’t like you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. I’d just toss you in my bed to toss you right back out.”

Billiard balls and sticks knock around in the near distance, flooding a few beats of silence.

“She’s a really lucky girl,” she whispers.

“He’s going to be a really lucky guy,” I say. “I mean that.”

A smile blossoms on her face, and then she’s snaking an arm around my neck. “Thanks, Brant.”

My free arm hugs her lower back before I’m leaning down. “You’re very welcome.”

“Ugh,” she softly grunts, tipping her head back. “Why do I want a last hoorah with you tonight? Am I a glutton for punishment or something? What’s wrong with me?”

I eject a breathy laugh. “Is honesty the new form of foreplay? I thought it was just common decency.”

Her brows groove playfully. “Honesty from a man who owns up to his shit? It’s a panty-dropper for sure.”

Our lips teasingly graze each other, but my heart breaks simultaneously. A lecherous strike of reality when I realize her scent isn’t Callie’s. Her taste isn’t Callie’s. Her touch isn’t Callie’s. None of this is Callie.

None of it is mine.

And all of it is his.

His.

His.

Jesse’s face crawls its way inside my head, and I’m already murmuring my next words. “You want to get out of here?”

Callie Rae

My Range Rover decelerates along the curb. I park in front of Brant’s house, and my forehead presses into the steering wheel.

My stomach somersaults in a frantic cycle. After the radical turn of events at the White Party last night, I couldn’t shake Brant’s message from my mind. I told Jesse I was going out with a couple people from work, allowing myself to satisfy my curiosity.

I peek right, landing on the silhouette of Brant’s Tacoma in the driveway. There’s a Honda Civic stationed next to it, and I instantly regret traveling here unannounced. Somewhere in the midst of obsessing over my fight with Jesse and scheming a way to spend time with Brant, I forgot Sean exists.

This could easily, easily, be humiliating. Not just for me, but for Brant. It’s also very probable Sean would suffer from second-hand embarrassment.

Really, Callie?

Above all, Brant never texted me back. Would he even be happy to see me tonight?

I blow out a lengthy breath as my belly winds tighter. My palms greet the denim over my thighs, fingers curling with tension.

I finally step out of the car, dipping back inside to get my crossbody. When I journey up the cement driveway, my fingers fiddle with my engagement ring. I tip my chin to the dark sky, and the corners of the princess cut press into the pads of my digits. Surely leaving marks on my flesh.