3. Bryanna

Work is work. Meetings had keeping me out of the office and to say I am beat was understatement. I am dead on my feet. I dive into the couch as soon as I’m home. Judging by the feel the apartement gives, Morwenna is still out. Which is happening more recently. Hm.

My phone suddenly rings on the coffee table alerting a FaceTime.

“Hey, there, cuz.” Michael’s face fills the screen.

"Hi, you. Give me a sec.” I prop a cushion beneath my head.

“You busy?”

“Nope.” I pop the p. “Just got home from work.”

“Okay, I won’t be long then. Just want to say happy birthday to my best cousin in the world,” he says. “And to remind you that there’ll be a package waiting for you this weekend.” Michael chuckles and winks.

I roll my eyes. “You know I will hunt your ass down to wherever you are now if this package isn’t what I am hoping, right, Mike?” I try to pull my meanest face to threaten him. But, everyone knows there’ll be nothing that scare the Mighty Michael.

“You’re funny,” he mocks.

“That was my mean face, you jerk,” I quip back.

Laughter filters through the speaker. “You don’t have one mean bone in your body, Bry. That one treat was all mine,” he retorts.

I roll my eyes again. “Yeah, I know. What I don’t know is why are you so mean to me, your best cousin, when your job is fixing broken bodies around the world?” I reply mischievously.

This is how we are. He’d be mean to me, intentionally, and I’d pouted when I was 5, or screamed at him when I was 9, or kicked his shin when I was 12, or ignored him when I was 15. When I am a 24 year old grown up woman? I give back as good as I got.

“Gah, I miss you, Bry. I miss home. I think I’m gonna try to visit before my next assignment. Just don’t tell mom yet, I want to align my duck first.”

I notice the bag under his eyes but make no comment about it. I know he is happy with his work, but it’s starting to take its toll on him. “That’s great, Mike. I really hope you can make it. You know we miss you too. The change of scenery will do you good, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m the doctor, remember? Say hi from me to Uncle Seb and Aunt Rose, yeah? And tell Ad to pick his goddamn phone the one time I call.”

I snicker.

“Okay. Love you, cuz. Happy birthday.”

Waving my hand at the screen, I say, “Love you too. Bye.”

And then the line is dead.

Checking Mike off the list who had congratulated me on my birthday, I wonder where the hell is my brother?

****

Stewart’s still have some crowd when I come. It’s ten in the evening, the last meeting was taking more time than I thought, forcing me to skip lunch and dinner. And now I’m desperate for Stewart’s greasy goodness.

Despite the tiredness seeping in my bones, I’m so ecstatic the project is nearly over.

Tris waves and leads me to an available booth in the corner. “Whatcha need, sugar?” She pours a tall glass of water. “You want that weird thing you called coffee? You look like you need a pitcher of it.” She arches a brow.

“Thanks, T. But, I want your magic greasy burger and fries. I’m super hungry. And, while you’re at it, can I get Tony’s super duper special chocolate milkshake too?” I puppy dog blink, blink, blink at her.

She shakes her head. “You and your chocolate. And your food. And your body. Where the heck was all those go anyway? And to think the world’s fair,” Tris grumbles while writing my order.

I laugh. “Because your food has magic here, T, am I right? And I’m sure if you look close enough you’ll find them hiding somewhere.”

“Find what?”

The question is said with such a growl that makes T rolls her eyes. I clench my teeth and force myself not to react to his sudden presence. Linc is walking, no, sauntering this way.

I feel my anger simmering, down, low in my belly.

"Your girl here.” Tris points at me with her thumb.

“Not his girl,” I grumble through my teeth.

She don’t acknowledge my response and continues, “is ordering a ton of grease and sugar and I was just asking her where all those demons go. You know I have to struggle with the greens everyday if I want to keep my cholesterol on normal level.”

Lincoln pays no mind to her explanation and ignore her. “What are you doing here?” he asks me, clearly annoyed.

Tris shakes her head at his tone. “That’s not the way to talk to a lady, young man. I’ll watch my mouth if I were you.” And then off she go, leaving me alone with this giant of a man who somehow looks more annoyed than before.

As if I'm not.

“Why are you here this late, little Jackson?” he repeats, enunciating the nickname he gave me since I was teenager.

I hate that name.

I once liked that, but now I don't.

Lincoln standing there by the table, his six foot something looming over. Like a wet blanket, he unsettles me. “I’m here to eat,” I reply curtly, or try to.

He harrumphed, takes a seat across from me, crosses his arms, and then, silence. My anger is climbing up to the next level.

What is he doing?

It's extremely challenging to be civil right now. I close my eyes and exhale deeply. “Look, Linc," I say as I divert my attention to other things than him. "I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this kind of treatment from you, but I just want to eat in peace.”

He just grunts.

Then, more silence.

Eyeing the counter, I pray for Tris to bring my food soon so this awkwardness and oddity will end.

But, just my luck. I didn’t expect him to sit there watching me while I ate, trying my best to enjoy my food.

More anger.

I ended up requesting a box to take the food home.

I curse him internally. There goes my food orgasm.

Tris comes with the box, helps me, and sends a warning glare at Lincoln’s way. He, of course, ignores her. “This is your bill, girl.” She hands me the receipt.

Before I could reach it, Lincoln grabs the paper. He pulls a fifty out of his wallet and gives them back to Tris. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

I stare at him, unbelieving of what’s just happened. He don’t give me a chance to process before he grabs my forearm and walks, his long legs and wide steps forcing me to trail behind him like a sad puppy.

Did he just manhandle me?

I don’t care about the fact that his grip doesn’t hurt. His touch is unsurprisingly soft and warm, but rude is rude.

I cannot believe he manhandled me!

You Neanderthal prick!

I tear my arm away from his grip when we’re in the parking lot, ready to rip him a new one. Hurt or not, he didn’t get to do whatever he wanted, not with me.

Not anymore.

“What are the hell do you think you're doing?” I yell, finally releasing my boiling anger and confusion on this man.

He have the audacity to exhale like I bother him. “I’m taking you home. You shouldn’t be Lyfting this late at night.”

Oh, really? Fucking really? “So you just decided to manhadle me to your car. Yeah, right. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with helping your best friend’s little sister get back to her apartment safely.” He unlocks his car, opens the passenger door, and gestures for me to get in.

The nerve of this giant asshole.

I cross my arms across my chest, staring daggers at him, and stand my ground. He looks back at me as steady. We do this staring contest, neither want to be the bigger person and let go.

He cocks his brow in the way that I ....

That’s when I know I lose this childish battle.

Fuck, Bry, don't. Do not go there.

I finally huff like a bull and stomp my feet as I charge to the passenger door. I dodge away from his obstructing body. I will never ever let myself get close, let alone touch him, anymore. Once is enough, more than enough.

Do I not know I just acted like a petulant child? I do.

Does it look like I care? No, it doesn’t.

Just as the door close, I look up and see his upper lip tugs at its side. Lincoln bites his bottom lip to restrain it from spreading even more.

The sight stuns me.

Was it a fucking smile I see?

****