4

THEO

I don’t know why Brooke Eastwick intrigues me. Call it morbid curiosity.

She’s not my type at all. Buttoned up so tight, so prim and proper. A good girl. A brainiac. A nerd. She’s got glasses, for fuck’s sake. In normal society that probably wouldn’t seem like a big deal, but shifters typically have perfect vision; our healing abilities overcome any deterioration of eyesight.

I sort of remember asking my mom about it, once, and her telling me that it was some kind of rare recessive trait that the Eastwick twins’ mom carried. That was a long time ago, though, so I don’t remember exactly. Either way, it’s weird.  

If our interaction yesterday is any indication, Brooke clearly wants nothing to do with me- which is strange, because I’m me. Some females throw themselves at me, others play a game of cat and mouse- but the end result is always the same. Even the waitress from the Goldenleaf bar who was obsessed with Gray let me fuck her in the storage room. I bet Fallon would’ve, too, if I’d gotten to her before Gray did.

I’m not sure if I enjoy torturing Brooke or if I’m just trying to pass the time while I’m stuck in the IT hub, but I plant myself at her desk again the next day. She doesn’t even look up at me as I drag a chair over from the conference table, lean back in it, and slap my boots up on her desk.

Today she’s wearing a Green Day t-shirt, a pair of ripped up jeans, and the same dingy chuck taylors that she had on yesterday. Her long blonde hair is down, tucked back behind her ears. Black framed glasses perched on her nose; her fingers fly across the computer keyboard. Her nails are painted purple, the polish chipping.

I just watch her for a moment, studying her movements. The curve of her neck, the way she furrows her brow and gnaws on her lip in concentration. Definitely nerdy as hell, but also kind of… endearing?

“Sup, kid?” I ask, shrugging out of my jacket.

Slowly, she turns to look at me, and I watch as her eyes travel down to my biceps as I pull them out of my jacket sleeves, fly to my abs when my shirt rides up.

“You like what you see?” I waggle my eyebrows.

She scowls, turning away, resuming typing. “Are you going to sit here and bug me all afternoon again?” Brooke asks through gritted teeth.

“Come on, now. I thought you liked my company.” I flash a smile, but she doesn’t even glance my way.

I throw my jacket over the back of my chair, reclining in it as I study her again. Long, thin fingers glide across the keyboard. Her baggy t-shirt hides her body, but if she’s anything like her twin, I bet it’s bangin’. Her tits are a little small for my taste, but I caught a glimpse of that ass of hers in her yoga pants in the dining hall last night and I wouldn’t mind another peek.

If she’d ever leave her desk chair.

Fuck, this girl is obsessed with her computer.

“So Green Day, huh?” I ask, fumbling for the pocket of my jacket to retrieve my afternoon snack.

“What?” Brooke finally turns to look at me, her big blue eyes blinking behind her glasses.

“Your shirt.” I gesture to it. “Green Day.”

“Oh,” she breathes. “Yeah.”

She goes back to typing.

Click. Click. Click.

“What’s your favorite album?” I ask.

She pauses, side-eying me. “You listen to Green Day?”

I chuckle. “Well no, but if I wanted to, what’s their best?”

Brooke considers for a moment, eyes on the ceiling, biting her bottom lip gently.

“American Idiot, probably. Or Insomniac.”

I choke on a laugh. “Those are names of albums?”

Her eyes darken and return to her computer screen.

I sigh, still chuckling as I fish my granola bar out of my jacket pocket, tearing open the wrapper.

“Didn’t I tell you yesterday that you shouldn’t eat in here?” Brooke murmurs, gaze still transfixed on her monitor.

I take a big bite, chewing. “Gotta keep this body fueled, kid,” I say, patting my abs.

Her eyes flicker to my stomach, then back to her computer, hands typing furiously.

Click. Click. Click.

“So Green Day… is that your favorite band?”

She stops, whipping her head over to look at me. “What are you doing?”

“What?” I mumble, mouth full of granola bar. I chew as she eyes me skeptically, swallow. “I’m just making conversation. Seems like you wear a lot of band t-shirts, so I thought you might have some music recs.”

I’m feigning innocence, but I’m a little titillated to be getting under her skin. It’s fun.

“Seriously?”

I nod. “Seriously. Whatcha got for me?”

I twist around in my chair to pull my phone out of my jacket pocket, and once I retrieve it, I catch her taking another peek at my stomach before my shirt slides back down.

Oh yeah, baby. Check out those rock hard abs.

Her cheeks flush like she knows she’s caught, and she starts in on another staring contest with her computer monitor.

I finish the last bite of my granola bar, tossing the wrapper onto her desk. She eyes it with annoyance as I unlock my phone, open my Spotify app.

“Okay, where should I start?” I ask, hitting the search button.

She studies me for a moment, looking from my phone up to my eyes curiously. Like she’s trying to figure out my game here.

“Well what kind of stuff do you usually listen to?” Brooke finally asks, leaning back in her chair and swiveling it toward me. She has one long leg crossed over the other, bouncing the toe of her chuck taylor sneaker.

I shrug. “Mostly rap. Hip hop. Whatever’s on the radio. But I’m open to suggestions.”

Brooke sighs, rolling her eyes as if my music taste is deplorable.

She reaches for her own phone lying face down on the desk, clicking the home button and navigating to the Spotify app. “Here, I’ll share a playlist with you. What’s your Spotify username?”

“Huh?”

“Your e-mail.”

“Uhh… like the one I registered my account under? Can’t you just text it to me?”

She groans, and the sound is eerily… sexual. It does something to my dick.

“Here,” she sighs, tossing her phone into my lap. “Send it to yourself.”

She’s got a blank message open on the screen with the playlist share link ready to go. I drop my own phone into my lap and pick up hers, entering my number and hitting send.

My phone vibrates against my crotch. Message received.

“Thanks,” I say, handing her phone back to her. I pick up my own, opening up the message and adding the playlist she shared to my own Spotify account. I start to scroll through it absently, not recognizing half of the band names on the playlist. Brooke resumes her furious typing.

Click. Click. Click.

“So are you coming out tonight?” I ask, still scrolling.

The clicking stops, and I can feel her eyes on me.

“Yeah. I’m going out. With some friends.” The way she emphasizes the word ‘friends’ is obviously meant to indicate that I’m not included in her plans.

“Cool.”

Click. Click. Click.

“Guess I’ll see you there.”

She stops again, and this time, I look up to meet her eyes. They’re so fucking blue- I swear I’ve never seen eyes as blue as hers. Not that I’m paying attention to chicks’ eyes very often. I scold myself mentally for even noticing.

Brooke studies my face again. She’s still trying to figure me out.

She purses her lips. “Maybe.”

I flash her a smile. A faint blush forms on her cheeks and she looks away quickly.

She totally wants me.

Guess I’m making progress. With what, I don’t know, but I’m smugly satisfied with myself for turning yesterday’s ‘no’ into a ‘maybe’.

There’s something about Brooke’s whole ‘good girl’ persona that turns me on a little bit. I’ve never been with someone like her before. I wonder if she’s really that good, or if there’s a bad girl lurking somewhere inside.

I wasn’t sure what I was getting at with her before, but now I know.

I definitely want to sleep with her.