Only Yours

0.4

Tamina

My breath catches. Only this time, I'm too slow to cover it up.

A lump begins to form in the back of my throat as my palms start to grow clammy. At this point in time, I would rather be anywhere except here with the proposal of a date—if it's a date.

Surely it's not. That can't be how it works, right? In the real world, you get to know them, then put the feels out. Not. . . this.

"I-I can't, I'm working, sorry," I stammer.

But what if I'm getting this all wrong? I'm going to make myself look like a fool.

Then there's the niggling question that resurfaces: What if I'm not?

My heart hammers as silence hangs between us, and I lose the ability to breathe.

As if sensing my discomfort, Brandon clears his throat before adding almost hastily, "As acquaintances, of course."

Brushing off the mortification of my error, I suck in a needed lungful of air. My pulse starts to settle into a slow patter. Weighing the options, I raise my chin and peer up at him..

Grabbing a drink won't be the worst thing to do—and he admitted it was only as acquaintances.

Maybe having something other than casual 'hellos' and 'how do you do?' won't be so bad.

What could go wrong?

Wringing my hands together, I kick at a loose granule of concrete. "I-I wasn't being rude, I seriously have work tomorrow," I murmur, avoiding eye contact this time. "Maybe I'll see you around Brooks and Books sometime?"

My face burns at the useless attempt to salvage the conversation, and this time, there's nowhere for me to hide. It only worsens when his brows crease. It takes a great amount of strength to remain still.

"Take my contact details." He inclines his head toward my backpack, his hood sliding down to meet the rim of his shades. "That way, if you change your mind, you can contact me. If you don't, there's no harm done, and I won't be able to get hold of you."

I can see the logic behind his reasoning. The point is obvious and clear, as if negotiating is part of his everyday lifestyle. It works perfectly for the both of us. I can please him now, and if I don't go through with it, there are no hard feelings.

However, he's being surprisingly calm considering the determination behind his actions. The calm and polite demeanour doesn't slip, and the notion that his number practically dangles in front of me weighs in.

Fiddling with my straps, my fingers pause over the fabric. Gripping them tighter, I tug just a little, but I hesitate. I'm curious to see what could be hiding in his eyes, to see what they reveal. Then, I slide them down my arms until my backpack hangs by my fingertips.

Unzipping the seam, I retrieve the device, open up my contacts, and give it a little wiggle in his direction.

Other than the few names with the word 'work' bracketed beside them, there's no one else in there other than my parents. Seeing another name without the title is going to be strange.

With a grateful tilt of the head, Brandon liberates me of my phone. His fingers fly across the screen in a matter of seconds.

"Don't feel bad," he begins, extending the device toward me, "if you don't reach out."

All I can do is nod as I read the name that now sits above the number. Brandon. Short and simple.

Dropping it into the depths of my bag, I seal it up and hoist it onto my shoulders for the last time.