The Plus One (A Brush With Love, #3)

by Mazey Eddings

Something in Jude’s brain glitched, his world tipping. It was the deep bass of the people in the bar laughing and yelling and the screeching feedback of the microphone and the thuds of barstools that sounded like gunshots … and … and everything.

He need to be on meds

The world was still spinning as Jude let go of Indira’s hand. He slouched against the brick wall of the adjacent alley, shoving his fingers through his hair and tugging at it as he dropped his head.

It hurt, this crying. It grated against his throat and stripped his skin. He couldn’t stop.

“I’m a bad person because my interest wasn’t in being some global humanitarian, it was purely selfish.”

Who cares

Jude was haunted by those bodies on his table, their pleading, pained eyes looking at him for salvation when he couldn’t deliver it.

“I can’t believe you haven’t lost your shit on your ex with all the groping he’s been doing. That level of maturity isn’t like you.” Indira let out an indignant gasp, jaw falling open as her gaze whipped toward him. Jude tried to hide his smile, but it was impossible. She narrowed her eyes at him in a withering glare, but her own smile won out, and she let the subject switch.

“Don’t be,” Indira said with a flick of her wrist, the smallest hint of sadness in her voice.

Especially as a kid, she’d looked like a Great Dane puppy, this small, wiry body, with giant paws slapping around.

“You want to be my friend?” Jude repeated, a bit too earnestly.

With an inflated smile, she (awkwardly) rested her hand on the top of Jude’s head.

“Isn’t that right, darling?” Indira purred, punctuating the ruse with a lascivious wink. She placed two fingers under his chin, closing his gaping mouth. “What is happening?” Jeremy whispered. Jude made an odd gargling noise.

Indira laughed, hoping if she did it loudly enough, the soft pokes of misplaced sadness wouldn’t flood her.

“I’m not going to put much stock in the opinion of a man who still wears Grey’s Anatomy merch from 2008.” Indira nodded at the old and stained T-shirt Collin was wearing, the picture of the show’s cast members worn and crumbly. “This is a rare, vintage item,” Collin said, gripping the fabric. “Guarantee you it will be worth a small fortune someday.” “It has holes in the armpits.” Jude let out a noise that Indira could have sworn was a laugh, but he disguised it as a cough. Collin shot a look at Jeremy for backup, but he just stared up at the ceiling, lips tucked into his mouth while the corners kicked up at the side.

“How’s work going?” Jude asked. An unstoppable smile broke across her lips. “Amazing,” she said, reverence in her voice.

Indira let out a small laugh. “I mean, therapy is weird.” Jude looked at her like she’d just

Jude mumbled something along the lines of No, I’m not happy at all as he crossed his arms over his chest.

After about four (failed) attempts at various parallel-parking spots, two extremely minor curb jumps, a gentle bottoming out over a road plate, and the tiniest bumper bump on a lamppost, Indira paid thirty bucks for a spot at a nearby parking lot and cut the engine.

“I believe it,” Jude said, reaching over and tugging at one of Indira’s wild curls and watching it spring back up. Indira sucked in a breath, the gesture sobering her up. It felt as intimate as a lover’s caress, and her heart twisted in her chest as echoes of past touches played across her mind. Small ones. Innocuous.

She remembered the rough shoves as little kids. The awkward and stiff hugs as teenagers. The more affectionate one she’d given him at his going-away party—the way his thumb had gently stroked twice between her shoulder blades when he’d hugged her back. Jude blinked rapidly, looking at her like he remembered too. Which was ludicrous.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Indira said, voice loud as she stepped to the side, revealing Chris standing just a foot inside the entryway, wringing his hands as he gave her a puppy-dog expression. Chris’s face morphed into confusion when he saw Jude.

“We’re dating,” Jude and Indira said in unison. He squeezed her hip lightly, electricity dancing up his arm. “That … that was fast,” Chris said, voice cracking. Indira’s jaw hit the floor, then she snapped it shut, grinding her teeth together.

Jude placed a hand on Chris’s shoulder as he walked out, stopping him before he made it down the hallway. “Someone else shouldn’t have to step in for you to listen to her, or anyone else, for that matter,” Jude said, voice hushed but sharp as a knife’s edge. “Don’t let that happen again.” Chris swallowed audibly, the noise wet. He nodded and Jude released his grip.

Indira made quick work of packing up her stuff, getting a spiteful thrill as she shoved everything into the last of Chris’s garbage bags.

Indira: he’s walking back to the car this was useless bye

He wasn’t exaggerating. Indira loved journaling when she was growing up. Even before she knew how to write, she was filling pretty notebooks with swoopy scribbles.

“Not to be a know-it-all—” “It seems like you’re going to go for it anyway…” Indira reached over and smacked Jude’s arm. “I was always the one following you and Collin around, begging to play with you. If anyone’s to blame for our reasonless feud…” “It’d be me,” Jude said, all humor faded from his voice. He paused for a moment, looking down at the diary. “I truly am sorry for always excluding you and teasing you.” The tinge of remorse in his voice had Indira’s heart stretching till it ached.

“Math isn’t real and its textbooks are consumerist propaganda. Nobody needs sixty-two watermelons

Lizzie calling Tamar an asshole and solidifying what was to become their decades-long friendship.

“Can we focus, please?” Collin continued, raising his hands in exasperation. Everyone quieted down, and Indira pretended to scratch her nose while flipping Collin off. He pretended not to notice.

“Sorry, I’m confused,” Indira said, raising her hand. “Can you show me again?” “Of course. You take the flower.” Collin held up a deep-red rose. “Dip the head into the wax. Then let any extra drip off.” “Hmmm.” Indira tapped her cheek as she tilted her head to the side, eyebrows deeply furrowed. She shot Jude a look and he nodded in confused solidarity.

Collin and Jeremy paced around the room, overseeing the progress with way too much intensity. Indira was tempted to trip Collin on his next pass.

Her brain slowed down long enough to relearn his details—the freckle by his right temple. The subtle notch between his brows, marking his frequent frowns. The curl of his hair at the nape of his neck and the way his throat worked when he swallowed.

“This is ass,” Indira said under her breath a few hours later, burrowing deeper into her coat as the wind picked up.

“Collin’s recent tantrum before the commercial break certainly lacked a level of sportsmanship,” Jeremy said quietly. “But he’s regained his composure as we kick off the next quarter.”

Indira opened her mouth to argue—mainly because arguing with Jude felt as natural as breathing—but a loud groan from the vicinity of Collin’s tent cut her off. “Would you two mind, oh, I don’t know, shutting the hell up and going to bed? Thanks.”

After a few seconds of frantic shuffling and thrashing on both their parts, they fell as silent as the dead, laying just as stiff.