Tourmaline

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Come on."

"I'm coming."

"Faster!"

"I'm coming."

I let out a breath. In front of me sat an empty park, a vast and isolated clearing surrounded on all ends by trees as far as the eye could see. The park was made up of patchy buffalo grass and a pond encased under a thick layer of ice at the far end, with wooden picnic tables blackened with age and overflowing trash cans that looked like they hadn't been touched in weeks. The air was sweet with the tang of evergreens and the scent of dawning spring.

"Here," I stated, nodding towards a small patch of grass. I set my bag on the ground beside me and glanced back at Brent, dressed in his usual jacket and army boots, trudging behind with an ice cooler cradled in his arms. "That looks a little heavy. Want some help?"

Brent's head snapped sharply to attention at my voice, as though he thought he were alone. "That would be emasculating," he said.

"Oh, jeez," I said. "You don't get your masculinity card revoked if you let a girl carry a cooler, Brent."

"I've got it, Tourmaline," he assured.

We stood like that for a few moments, eyes locked, engaged in a silent battle. I looked away first.

"Have it your way," I said, shrugging.

He cracked a small smile and glanced away. He reached into the cooler and retrieved a sandwich and a retro-style soda bottle damp with condensation before handing me the sandwich, popping open the soda, and crouching down on his knees in the grass.

I kicked off my shoes to the side and pulled off my jacket before settling on my back, facing the sky. My eyes drifted to the subtle peek of skin peering out from beneath Brent's t-shirt, at the broad slope of his shoulders and the small white scar located in the crook of his elbow. I silently drank him in.

"So." Brent cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Is this, you know, regular date stuff?"

I met his eyes. I really didn't know. Tate's idea of a hot night out had been subtly trying to feel me up in the back of his car, and by this point I couldn't even remember what Wyatt and I did. I was probably one of the worst people to ask when it came to dating. What surprised me was that Brent didn't seem to know, either.

"You're asking the wrong person." I flexed my feet, relishing the soft bristle of grass between my toes. "Honestly, I kind of thought you'd be the romantic expert."

His brow knitted together in confusion. "Why would you think that?"

I turned the sandwich around absentmindedly in my free hand. "I don't know. You seem like you've had some experience when it comes to dating."

"Are you calling me a man whore?"

"Your words, not mine," I replied.

Brent grunted in reply and took a long swig of his soda. "That's beside the point. Besides, I'm used to the garden variety of dates."

"What's a garden variety date?" I asked, mystified.

"Y'know. Dinner, movie, concert, laser light show." I raised an eyebrow at the last one but said nothing. "We've only accomplished one of the four. That's an all time low for me."

"Think of it as an all time high. We've managed to accomplish only one of the four, and we've still been on a good number of dates."

Brent pondered this for a moment. "Good point."

He finished off his drink and hurled it far off into the grass ahead, so far that I didn't hear it hit the ground. He let out a sigh and stretched out next to me, propping his head up with one arm. I felt the rough material of his coat caress my bare arm and shivered.