To Brooklyn, With Love (Completed) - Finding You Book 2

Brooklyn

I'm hungover. Really, really hungover.

I haven't let go like that in years, not because I'm overly responsible; I'm definitely not. But the company I've kept for the last few years has been fast and brash, and I couldn't afford to let my guard down long enough to really let go.

I'm still trying to understand why I felt comfortable enough to do so last night, with a man I barely know, but then I think of the way he made me feel last night and it all makes perfect sense.

It wasn't the tequila. I'm starting to think that Harrison Reid is really just that fun. So fun we ended up staying out into the wee hours of the night at a dive bar down the street from my apartment, listening to a local band. I didn't know a single word of any of their songs, but I had the best time beside him being way overdressed, eating greasy bar pizza and laughing about nothing at all.

And when the lights in the bar went up and they practically had to scrape us out of our stools and push us out the door, he surprised me again by not just calling an Uber and sending me on my way. He actually got out of the car and walked me to my apartment.

"I feel like I should make sure you don't fall asleep at your kitchen table or something," he whispered over my shoulder when I slid my key into my door. I thought he was just making up excuses to get inside my apartment, like every other guy I've gone out with has. But Harrison actually did just walk me inside. He searched through my tiny, disorganized cabinets to find a glass, then filled it with water from the tap and handed it to me.

And I just stared up at him, like what he'd done was the craziest thing I've ever seen.

And maybe it was, as 2:30 in the morning, because I'm not used to people trying to take care of me.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked softly, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear and looking me right in the eyes. I nodded, because I couldn't come up with the words to tell him that I haven't really felt okay in years.

And then he smiled, like he didn't really believe me, and pressed a kiss to my cheek, telling me he wasn't going to press for another answer.

"Get some rest," he said with a smile. "Thank you for tonight,"

But really, it's him I should be thanking, for reminding me that not everyone on this earth is out for blood.

His eyes floated up to the clock on my wall and he smiled.

"Good morning, Brooklyn,"

"Goodnight," I correct him.

"Morning," he says again, pointing to the clock.

"Sure," Imanage softly as he turned and walked toward my door. His hand rested on the knob and he looked over his shoulder once more and smiled before walking through it.

And that was it. We were completely drunk, but he didn't expect anything from me. He didn't try to kiss me. He didn't expect me to sleep with him. He did everything he said he would, only more sweetly, and returned me in one piece to my apartment.

It dawns on me that this is completely normal for a lot of people. It's just never been my normal and the fact that I may finally be on the verge of something new and different excites me.

It's now 9 am. I slide out of bed and head immediately to the shower, but even 30 minutes under the scalding hot spray doesn't dull the pounding in my head. I brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair before sliding on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and just as I'm about to turn on the coffee pot, there's a knock on my door.