Always Sometimes Never: Sometimes Brooke Part 3

"Seriously?" I'm not sure why I even ask the question because he looks dead serious. "You're Nic Rayne. You're the guy every girl on the f.u.c.king planet wants."

"But the only girl I care about is Harper. She's the one who has to want me. Or it's all over, Dude. The day Harper doesn't want me anymore I might as well be dead."

"Is that why you've been pressuring her into getting hitched?"

"I haven't been pressuring her." He swallows. "Have I?"

"You're worse than a chick with all the bulls.h.i.t about getting married." I look down at his crotch to make my point. "Did you suddenly grow a vag or something?"

Rayne normally doesn't take s.h.i.t from anyone, even me and Xander, so I'm not surprised when he gives me a cold stare and changes the subject. "Just be careful, okay? I think you'll be playing with fire if things heat up with Brooke."

Before I can respond Raven and Xander stroll in together, once again hand in hand. I can't help but feel a twinge of jealously that they've left me out for a second time. But maybe it's all good. I've already made up my mind. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get Brooke.

After nearly working us to death Rayne finally decides that maybe we all need a break. No s.h.i.t, Sherlock. I know I don't have as much going on upstairs as Rayne, or even Xander for that matter, but even I could figure that one out.

I decide to see if I can find Brooke.

Rayne's estate is ma.s.sive. Not only is his house the size of a small hotel, he's got enough land for his own national park. Even his guest house is bigger than the s.h.i.t box that we grew up in. Rayne practically lived with us after his mom died. His dad was on the road too much to take care of him. Not that my mom was any prize. The three of us raised ourselves.

Walking through the gardens makes me feel like I'm in one of those British movies that put everyone to sleep, but still win all the awards.

I catch sight of Brooke sitting on a bench next to a huge cactus. She's reading a book. After I take the seat next to her, and she glares at me, I realize a little too late that I probably should have asked before I just plopped down next to her.

"What are you reading?" I ask. Not that I give a s.h.i.t about books. I just need something to start a conversation.

She holds it up. The t.i.tle says something about mindfulness meditation, whatever the h.e.l.l that means. "It is good?"

She narrows her gaze at me. "You don't read, do you?"

I swear the girl can see right through me. "You caught me."

She closes the book and places it on her lap. And when my attention is drawn to the short, tight skirt she's wearing all I can think about it hiking it up, bending her over the bench, and slipping my d.i.c.k inside of her.

"What do you want, Leo?" She sounds weary.

Since I can't just come right out and tell her I've been dying to f.u.c.k her I opt for, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

Her eyes narrow. "You really want to take me for a walk?"

I nod.

"Is this like a date or something?" She stares at me expectantly.

I shrug because I'm not sure what to say.

"Have you ever taken a girl on a date before?"

"Nope," I say before I wonder if it's a bad thing.

When she laughs my heart skips a few beats. I'm starting to understand what Rayne said about being scared s.h.i.tless. She's already doing it to me. If I make one wrong move she could completely reject me.

"I'm not surprised. You can get any girl to spread her legs for you. It sure as h.e.l.l doesn't require dinner and a movie first."

That's when it hits me. What I need to do to get this girl. Dinners, movies, flowers...everything that normal guys do when they're trying to score. It's something she'll never expect from a guy like me.

"Come on," I say as I stand and hold out my hand. "Walk with me."

When she bites her bottom lip I want to bite it for her. But I can see the hesitation in her eyes, so I say instead, "I promise I'll be a good boy."

"Okay," she finally agrees and hops from the bench. "As long as you promise to be good."

I place my hand on my chest. "I swear."

As we look into each other's eyes I wonder how long I'll actually be able to keep that promise. My d.i.c.k is straining against my jeans screaming to be let free.

"Where to?"

I glance around. "Want to walk over to the orchard?"

"Why not? Maybe we can grab a few oranges while we're there."

When I extend my hand again I hold my breath wondering if she'll take it this time. I think maybe I've got a fifty-fifty shot, which isn't very good odds when you're used to having sure things.

After a few seconds of staring at the thing like it's some creepy-as-s.h.i.t monster hand she finally takes it.

I lace our fingers together like I've seen other couples do and I notice her mouth upturn ever so slightly. I've never been a hand-holding kind of guy, but holding this girl's hand feels right.

"I've tried the Twelve Step thing before," I tell her as we make our way over to a line of orange trees heavy with fruit.

"I heard," she admits. "I guess it didn't work out so well."

I shrug. "Twelve is a lot of steps. Maybe if it was like a Five Step program I could have made it."

"Ever been through rehab?" she asks.

"I've never had time for that s.h.i.t. We're usually on the road or in the studio. I can't take thirty days off."

She laughs. "It's not like a vacation. Believe me, it's work."

"Booze is a big part of the rock life," I tell her. "It's not easy giving it up."

Shaking her head she says, "It's not easy for anyone."

We're both quiet for a while as we pick out the oranges we want. It feels so weird being with a girl and not being in bed. Or at the very least trying to find someplace secluded enough for me to stick my d.i.c.k inside of her.

"You should have this one." She hands me a freaky looking orange that looks like a mad scientist's experiment gone horribly wrong.

"Why this one?"

"It reminds me of you."

I'm not sure whether to laugh or be insulted. "I remind you of mutant fruit?"

She nods. Adamantly.

"How exactly am I like this orange?" I hold it up so we can both get a good look at it.

"If you tell someone to think of an orange, most people will think of the perfect piece of fruit. The stereotypical orange in size, shape, color, texture, even scent. People don't generally think of oranges that look like that." She points to the deformed thing in my hands. "Tell someone to think about a rock star and the same thing happens. They have the stereotypical image of what they think a rock star is. I know I did. Until I met you. On the outside you try really hard to be the bad-boy rocker, but that's not what I see when I look at you. Because I know you're different. You're really a good guy deep down inside. You defy the stereotype. Just like this orange."

I'm not sure what to say, so I keep my pie hole shut. If she thinks I'm more than just a rocker I don't want to burst her bubble. But Rayne was absolutely right. The more she thinks of me, the scarier it is. What if she finds out I'm really not that different from every other jerkoff rock star? What if I'm really nothing more than an a.s.shole trying to get laid like everyone else?

Three.

Brooke "Since when do you jog?" I struggle to keep up with Harper who is already yards ahead of me.

For the first time in all the years I've known her Harper actually looks normal. She's not wearing a skirt that looks like she got it from the back of her mother's closet or some peasant blouse circa 1970. She's wearing 21st century jogging shorts, an Always Rayne t-shirt and brand new sneakers.

My lungs are already burning, but I don't think we've gone that far. While Harper seems to be enjoying the exercise I feel like I want to punch someone.

Hard.

"Stop," I manage to get out between wheezes and pants.

Harper turns around and jogs back to me. She's still running in place while I'm doubled over, gasping for breath, as I try filling my lungs up with oxygen.

"That wasn't even a mile," she complains. She doesn't seem to be out of breath at all, which p.i.s.ses me off even more.

"How long have you been torturing yourself this way?" I ask when I can finally speak again.

"A few months. I sit in front of the computer so much these days I needed something to keep in shape. Nic's property is so beautiful I figured I'd take advantage of the awesome views."

"Maybe we can walk for a while," I suggest. "I can't keep up if you run."

"Sure. No problem."

We both start to walk at a brisk pace. It's still a challenge for me, but at least I don't feel like I'm going to die.

"So how would you feel about being a bridesmaid in a wedding?" she asks as we walk by an enormous fountain.

"He finally talked you into it, huh?"

"When I told him I'd give some serious consideration to his proposal he took that to mean yes. He's ready to drive down to the courthouse at a moment's notice."

"You don't want a big wedding, do you? I never pictured you as the fairytale wedding type."

"No, not at all. I'm all for eloping, especially if it means avoiding the paparazzi. But I still want it to be special."

"You could just get married here. This place rivals a lot of five star hotels. And he's got enough fountains. You'll have no trouble finding spots for photographs."

"I thought about that. I'm just not sure..."

I stop walking and turn to face her. "Not sure about getting married right now...or getting married period? Or are you not sure about marrying Nic? There's a big difference."

Her brow furrows and she seems to be giving my questions serious consideration. Then she says. "There's no one I'd rather spend my life with than Nic. I do want to get married and I do want to marry him. I guess I'm just scared. It's a big step."

"If you weren't scared I'd be concerned," I tell her. "You'll know when the time is right."

She nods. "Thanks. We'd better keep going. I don't want our heart rates to drop."

"Again with the torture," I tease. "I feel like I'm in rehab again with all this exercise. Just don't make me sit through any group therapy sessions, okay?"

She laughs. "I won't. I promise."

When we get back to my room it takes me a moment to realize there's something taped to the door.

"What's that?" Harper asks.

"It's a note."

"And a flower," she adds.

There's a piece of folded notebook paper that's been ripped out of a spiral notepad taped to the door next to a half wilted daisy.

As I remove the piece of paper I can't help but smile. It still has the frayed edges on it where it's been removed from the pad. The poor daisy has seen better days. I'm not sure how long it's been taped to my door, but it looks like it's only a few hours away from being completely withered.

As I unfold the paper I notice the note scribbled in pencil looks like a kid wrote it. The handwriting is so bad I can just about make out what it says: Will you go on a date with me? This is followed by a poorly drawn heart and a scribble I a.s.sume is Leo's signature.

"Cute," Harper comments as she reads the note over my shoulder.

"If you're in seventh grade," I add even though I really do think it's cute.

"The daisy was a nice touch," she says as she hands me the flower. "He had to walk a fair distance to find one of those."

"It's been a while since I've gotten a flower from a guy," I admit.

"So?" She raises an eyebrow.

"So what?"

"Are you going to go out with him?"