Independent Braylee Mitchells faces the prospect of falling in love with her new roomie: self-proclaimed player and long-time friend, Dominick Mulder, when a damaged apartment and old vows force them together... and make them possibly confront and d...
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Chapter 4
BRAYLEE
I folded a dark cardigan and neatly stacked it atop a matching pile growing in one of my suitcases I had propped open atop my bed.
Looking at the clothes spread out around the room, it was clear I favoured a certain colour palette.
Dark.
I made a mental note to add more colour to my wardrobe.
"Mom said you're moving in with Dom."
Brandon leaned against the doorframe, looking into the room I had spent my childhood in that was directly next to his with a critical eye. Mom had done it up after I got my first job after university and it was clear I wouldn't be staying at home any longer, turning it into a tastefully decorated guest bedroom with neutral accents.
"Yeah, so?" I turned my back on him, hoping he'd fuck off, and grabbed the next item of clothing that was in my closet. Tomorrow, I would be up with the birds and meeting the moving company I had booked at the storage facility where the rest of my shit was kept, so I wanted my clothes and other belongings packed and ready before I had to leave in the morning. When I turned back to my suitcase, Brandon was sprawled over my pillows, munching on a cereal bar he had stolen from the pantry and getting crumbs all over my bed sheets. Geralt, who had been lounging atop my pillow, threw my brother a look of feline disgust and promptly vacated the vicinity.
Couldn't blame him, really, because... same.
"Just you and Dom?" Brandon asked over a mouthful of oats.
I placed my folded clothes atop the rest inside the suitcase and straightened with my hands on my hips so I could issue my brother with a pointedly raised eyebrow. Brandon took enormous amounts of joy from antagonising me, something I had learned when I moved back home during a time that corresponded with my brother also needing to hole up with the parentals for a bit while he got back on his feet. Being retrenched at 29 years old must be tough and I really felt for him, really I did, but did he have to be such an annoying prick?
"Yes, just me and Dom," I emphasised slowly. "Would you like me to write it out for you on a piece of paper? That's if you still remember how to read."
Unperturbed by my insult, Brandon continued to chew with a thoughtful look on his face. He was a typical Jo'burg white boy with arrogance in abundance, a swagger in his step because he thought he was the shit, and unfortunately, he was blessed with enough good looks to get the validation he needed from a lot of women, and he believed the Golf he drove was the best car in the world. He also went around calling all his friends, and people who weren't his friends, bru.
I loved him because I had to and, on the rare occasion when we did get along, we behaved like normal brother and sister who had been companionable for years. Most of the time, though, we made digs at each other.
