sweet, Sierra could taste it.
* * *
“Sierra, I wasn’t ignoring you. I promise,” Brooks says from his elevator corner.
“Whatever.”
“What can I say to get you to believe me?”
“I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”
“Well, thanks for your honesty,” Brooks says. He pulls his phone out and sighs before putting it away again. Sierra feels guilty for being so rude, but doesn’t apologize. Can’t and won’t.
“You’re welcome?”
“I know who you are,” he says. “Trust me.”
* * *
Sierra and Brooks got a little drunk together by that Christmas tree in her apartment even though all they did was share a small glass of whiskey. For her, some of it was the leftover alcohol in her system and some of it was desire. She didn’t know what it was for him, although she hoped at least some of it was desire. Lust. The guy she’d been dating had broken up with her recently, but she hadn’t told anyone yet. Not even her best friend.
They lay on the floor underneath the Christmas tree, looking up.
“Used to do this all the time when I was a kid, pretend like I was in a rocket ship,” Brooks said after a minute or two of not saying anything. The music was still playing. Some brushy acoustic cover of “What Child Is This?” The Christmas songs written in minor keys were Sierra’s favorites.
“Same,” she said, turning to him. It would be a perfect time for him to finally kiss her, so she told him that.
* * *
“Right. And I know who you are too. Brooks Clark, West High class of ’05. Homecoming king junior and senior year.” Sierra starts counting them off on her fingers. “Football dude, ladies’ man, and yeah, um, you drove that black sports car your dad got for you the day you turned eighteen. It was all murdered out and you kept it annoyingly clean like it was the only thing that mattered to you in the world. You and Tyler would always take your car to Taco Bell after the football games and hang out in the parking lot so the popular girls would hover around y’all like vultures,” she ends and puts her hands back down.
“Wow, okay. Well, I did love that car. That, you are right about,” he says.
“I’m right about the other things too,” Sierra says confidently. There is a mechanical whirring and the emergency lights flash off and on again. The speaker voice clicks on.
“Are you two doing all right?”
“You could say so. How’s it looking?” Brooks says calmly. Sierra is grossed out and turned on by how he says it, by how quickly he takes control. It’s sexgusting. That’s what she and her best friend call something or someone they’re attracted to when they don’t want to be. Sexgusting. Brooks has crossed his ankles and folded his hands across his stomach like they are resting on a boat somewhere or in a park after a wine and cheese picnic.
“We’re almost there. Thanks for your patience. Hang tight,” the voice says.
“How long has it been?” Sierra asks Brooks when the speaker voice is gone.
“About fifteen minutes,” Brooks says, flicking his phone on and off.
“What happened to your precious car?”
“Totaled it when I was in college. Walked away on angel’s wings,” he says. “I got another one exactly like it.”
Sierra quickly remembers Tyler telling her about the accident, but that must’ve been after the Christmas-tree night. She'd only seen Brooks a few times since the Christmas-tree night eight years ago and those few times were horrible, awkward nightmares. She’s only been dating Doug for a couple weeks but she wonders if Brooks goes to NightVision shows. Good thing she’s never seen him at one, since seeing him brings up so much. A lot.
She’d liked that car, although she’d always pretended to ignore it when it was parked in their driveway. Always looked away before Tyler shut its glossy beetle-black doors and came inside.
“Hey, Sierra…I miss Tyler. Like, I really miss Tyler. Tyler was my brother too…my boy,” Brooks says, his voice wobbly.
Sierra looks away when her own tears fall.
* * *
“I can’t kiss you. I’m sorry,” Brooks said under the Christmas tree. He slid himself out and sat up.
“Oh,” Sierra said, wanting to die of embarrassment.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come over.”
“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have.”
“I’ll go. But it’s not because I don’t find you attractive. I mean, you know that, right? You’re very pretty. I like looking at you. Always have,” he said.
“Okay?” she said, annoyed.
“I’m good to drive. Thanks for