Page 106 of What We Brave
I shake my head. But I'm smiling. Can't help it. My face feels strange—like the muscles have forgotten how to do this.
"Tomorrow night," I say, before I can lose my nerve. "You free?"
Laine turns to me. "Tomorrow?"
"Dinner. Just us." I shove my hands in my pockets so she can't see them shaking. "If you want."
Her smile softens. Loses the manic edge, settles into something warm.
"Like a date?"
"Exactly like a date."
"Yes." She reaches out and touches my arm. Just a brush of fingers through flannel. "I'd like that."
"Good."
Reid claps his hands together, rubbing them for warmth. "Great. Amazing. Love this for us. Can we please go inside now? I can't feel my feet and I'm pretty sure hypothermia is setting in."
"It's forty-five degrees."
"I'm delicate, Blake. I have a delicate constitution."
"You once ate a gas station burrito that had been sitting out for six hours. And you were totally fine, you fucking freak of nature."
"That's different. That was a dare."
Laine laughs again. The happy sound wraps around my chest and squeezes.
"Yeah," she says, looking at both of us. "Let's go inside."
22
LAINE
Ichange outfits three times before Blake arrives.
The first one's too casual — jeans and a sweater that says "I'm not trying." The second's too dressy, like I'm compensating for something. The third lands somewhere in the middle: a soft green blouse that brings out my eyes, dark jeans, boots with a low heel. Nice but not trying too hard.
I'm being ridiculous. This is Blake. I've seen him covered in sawdust and smelling like wood stain. I've watched him nearly pass out at the sight of an infected wound. I've kissed him twice now.
But this is different. This is adate. An actual, intentional, just-the-two-of-us date.
I'm going on a date with my ex-maybe-current-boyfriend's best friend.That's not confusing at all.
No wonder I'm a mess. Anyone would be. If I don't get my head on straight, I'm going to ruin this before it starts.
And I really, really don't want to ruin this.
The buzzer rings at exactly seven. Of course he's punctual.
I hit the button to let him in, then take a breath. Smooth my hands down my jeans. Check my reflection one more time in the hall mirror — mascara hasn't smudged, hair still doing that thing I spent twentyminutes convincing it to do. Good enough. Better than good enough.Stop stalling.
Then the soft knock.
Yep, giant hairy moths are jumping around in my stomach.
Blake stands in the hallway, and for a second I just — stop. He's wearing a dark blue button-down I've never seen before, sleeves rolled to the elbows the way he always does, like he can't quite commit to looking formal. His hair is still damp at the edges, like he showered recently and couldn't be bothered to fully dry it.
