Beneath the Blanket Fort

The red cup in my hand had gone warm an hour ago, but I kept nursing it anyway because holding something made the standing-around part of the party less obvious. Brooksley was across the room, laughing at something Marcus said, her head tipped back and her throat exposed under the string lights. I'd been watching her do that for two years now. The laughing. The throat. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was about to say something she knew would get a reaction.

"Secret Santa time, assholes," Priya announced, clapping her hands. "Everyone grab a number from the bowl."

The living room of Marcus's parents' house smelled like cinnamon candles and spilled beer. Twelve of us, give or take, crammed onto couches and floor cushions. I pulled a slip from the ceramic bowl Priya shoved in my face. Number four. I didn't look at who had my name. I was too busy trying to figure out who had Brooksley's.

She drew her number and immediately crumpled it in her fist. Typical. Brooksley never let anyone see her cards.

"Rules," Marcus said, standing on his coffee table like he was running a board meeting. "Twenty dollar limit. No gag gifts unless they're actually funny. And you have to open them in front of everyone so we can all judge your taste."

"I'm getting someone a dildo," Devon said.

"That's not a gag gift, that's a cry for help," Priya shot back.

The exchange went on like that for a while. I contributed exactly one laugh and zero words. Brooksley caught my eye once, just a flicker, and smiled. Or maybe she smiled at something behind me. I couldn't tell. That was the whole problem with Brooksley. I could never tell.

We did the exchange in a circle, and I ended up with a gift card to a coffee shop I'd never been to and a pair of socks with cats on them. The socks were from Devon. The gift card was from someone I didn't know well enough to guess. Brooksley got a book about mushrooms and a candle that smelled like cedar. She held the candle up to her nose and inhaled, and I watched her do it, and I hated myself a little for watching.

After presents, people started drinking harder. Devon produced a bottle of tequila from his backpack, which was against the rules of the party and also exactly what everyone wanted. The music got louder. Someone turned off the overhead lights so it was just the string lights and the glow of the kitchen. I found a spot on the floor near the fireplace and tried to look like I was having a good time.

"You look like you're doing math," Brooksley said.

She'd sat down next to me without me noticing. Her knee was maybe three inches from mine. She was wearing jeans with a hole in the left thigh and a sweater that was too big for her, the sleeves pulled down over her hands.

"I'm calculating how long until I can leave without it being weird," I said.

"It's already weird. You've been standing in the corner all night."

"I've been participating."

"You've been standing in the corner holding the same drink for two hours."

She wasn't wrong. I looked at her hands, buried in her sleeves. I wanted to hold one of them. That was the kind of thought I had around Brooksley. Stupid, specific, impossible.

"Hide and seek," Priya yelled from the kitchen. "Everyone who's still here, we're playing hide and seek. House rules. No going outside, no locking doors, and if you're found you have to take a shot."

"Who's seeking?" Devon asked.

"Marcus. He's the most sober."

"I'm not sober," Marcus said. "I'm just tall."

"Tall counts."

Brooksley stood up and offered me her hand. I took it. Her palm was warm through the sleeve of her sweater, and when she pulled me to my feet she didn't let go right away. Maybe a second too long. Maybe I imagined it.

The count started. Marcus faced the wall and began counting to sixty, and everyone scattered. The house was big, one of those old Victorians with too many rooms and doors that didn't quite close. I went up the stairs two at a time, past the bathroom, past a bedroom full of coats, and into a study at the end of the hall. Bookshelves, a desk, a window seat with curtains that didn't quite reach the floor.

I heard footsteps behind me. Brooksley slipped into the room and closed the door without a sound.

"Shh," she said, and pressed her back against the wall.

We stood there in the dark, listening to Marcus's voice drift up from downstairs. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Brooksley was breathing hard from the stairs. So was I, but for different reasons.

"There's nowhere to hide in here," I whispered.

"There's the closet."

"It's full of coats."

"Even better."

She crossed the room and opened the closet door. It was, in fact, full of coats. Winter coats, mostly, the kind people wore to funerals and job interviews. Brooksley climbed in and pulled me after her, and then she closed the door and we were in the dark, surrounded by wool and the smell of cedar, our knees touching, our shoulders pressed together.

"Ready or not," Marcus bellowed from downstairs.

Brooksley laughed, low and quiet, right next to my ear. I felt it in my spine.

"This is a terrible hiding spot," I said.

"It's a great hiding spot. No one ever checks the obvious ones."

"You just wanted to get me in a closet."

She was quiet for a second. Then she said, "Maybe."

My heart was doing something stupid in my chest. I could feel it in my throat, in my wrists, in the tips of my fingers. The closet was small enough that I could feel the heat coming off her, or maybe that was me, maybe I was the one running hot. I couldn't tell anymore.

"Your coat's digging into my back," she said.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just move."

I shifted, and my knee pressed harder against hers, and neither of us moved away. The house creaked. Somewhere below us, Devon shouted that he'd been found, and Priya shrieked, and there was the sound of feet running down a hallway.

Brooksley's hand found mine in the dark. Not a grab. Just a touch, her fingers brushing against my knuckles like she was checking if I was still there.

"Neev," she said.

"Yeah."

"Are you going to kiss me or do I have to do it myself?"