Page 32 of Drowning Erin

“Brendan, I’m not bringing one of them home. I’m just attending something.”

“I just…” he trails off, frowning. “There are a lot of guys out there who have a way of getting what they want.”

I roll my eyes. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t mean getting what they want by persuasion, Erin. I mean they get a girl into a situation where it’s hard to say no or where it won’t matter if she says no.”

“I’m not stupid. It’s not like I’m going to go up to someone’s apartment ‘for a drink’ or whatever.”

“Just…be careful, okay? Don’t drink anything you don’t watch being made by the bartender. And don’t leave by yourself. Make your friend walk you to your car. Or a bouncer. Or call me.”

“You’re going to drive down there in the middle of the night and walk me to my car?” I ask.

“A, it had better not be the middle of the night when you’re going home, and B, yes, without a single snide comment, I will drive down there. Promise me, Erin.”

“Brendan, I promise that if I feel unsafe in any way, I’ll do something about it.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes, but that’s all I’m willing to agree to.”

He groans. “Thank God I’m never having kids. If one of them was as big a pain in the ass as you I don’t know how I’d cope.”

“Why do you care all of a sudden?” I ask with an exasperated laugh. “You didn’t even like me until a few weeks ago.”

He looks at me, eyes wide and serious. He looks upset, and his mouth opens as if he plans to argue before he stops himself. “Maybe you won me over with the coconut bars,” he says, and anything earnest in his face is buried beneath his standard cocky grin.

It’s not what he was going to say, and I really wish, just this once, he’d have told me the truth.

24

Brendan

Three and a Half Years Earlier

I’m standing at the end of a long deck with Will beside me. He’s nervous as fuck, but I would be too if my fiancée had gotten cold feet as many times as Olivia has. There’s a 25-percent chance she’s catching a cab to the airport right now.

I’m nervous too, sick with it. I haven’t seen Erin since the engagement party, nearly a month ago, and there’s this hunger for the sight of her that I never dreamed possible. I know she and Rob have gone out. I didn’t ask for details, and I’ve cut him off each time he’s tried to share them anyway, but based on the expectant, excited look on his face as he waits for her to come down the aisle, I assume it went well.

It’s not until she finally appears that this itchy, desperate feeling in my chest goes away. I could stare at her all day, every day. I want to. I want to hear her hum as she works; I want to watch her face light up when she gets that first bite of Cherry Garcia. I want to hear her groan in my mouth when I kiss her, the way she did at Mike’s house, and I want to hear it every fucking night.

The prospect of unlimited girls no longer appeals to me—why would it, when I’m just going to be picturing her face each time? I want only her, and I’ll visit her family and go to farmer’s markets every fucking day if that’s what she wants. It feels like a stunningly small price to pay for what I’d get in exchange.

I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to get it: it was never Erin that annoyed me. I was annoyed by myself, by the constant internal battle between what I want and what I merely thought I wanted. It’s a shitty thing to do to Rob, and odds are if he likes her as much as I think he does, it’s going to ruin our friendship, but I’m telling her tonight. Maybe I’m too late, but I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try.

Except it’s easier said than done.

All night long, Rob won’t leave her side. No matter what is occurring, he’s within five feet of her. So all I can do is wait, standing in the corner, staring at her in a manner I’m sure anyone would find creepy, wondering if she’ll even hear me out if I get her alone, given that I was such a dick to her all summer. I’m not sure I’d listen in her place. And in the meantime, the hotel’s clueless wedding coordinator stands beside me, suggesting we go check out the penthouse and refusing to move on, no matter what I do to discourage her.

When Rob finally walks away, I make my move, asking Erin to dance with so much urgency in my voice that I sound almost angry. She looks up at me with a wariness I can hardly fault her for.

“I’m only agreeing for one reason,” she says.

“Because this is your favorite song?” I reply.

“Did you know that?” she asks. “Or are you guessing?”

“I knew,” I tell her. Of course I knew—that’s why I requested it. That’s why I’ve had it on repeat in my car for months.