The random thought,I kissed your brother this morning, flits through my head. I swat it away.
What can ever come of that kiss?
Even if the answer is obvious, I still want another.
Chapter 12
Cody
When I think about you,
I end up having a stupid grin on my face.
~ Unknown
We’re allin the weight room. It’s the best place for me to be right now.
I kissed my best friend’s sister.
No.
I kissed Carli, not Jace. And Jace had nothing to do with that kiss—obviously. If I had been thinking of him, I wouldn’t have kissed her. Not there. Not where anyone could have walked in—where he almost did.
She deserved a better first kiss from me. Still, as brief and stolen as it was, our kiss was everything. My chest tugs just thinking of it—my head lighter than air, my lips feel different, unfamiliar, alive. And it’s all I can think about now—the soft fullness of her lips, the sound of her breath as I pulled awayafter that first brush, the way she leaned in when I returned for more.
Did she want me the way I want her?
She didn’t recoil—not until the sound of Jace’s boots ripped us apart.
I push the barbell up, away from my chest with a grunt. My muscles strain. Exhale. Inhale. Lower the bar. Repeat.
“Are you going out for Mr. World or something, Cody?”
Dustin’s question breaks my concentration and the bar wobbles.
He steps over and spots me.
“Nah. Just getting the most out of the workout.”
“Putting us to shame,” Patrick says with a smirk.
“Speak for yourself,” Dustin says, flexing.
In all my years, I’ve never met a guy who likes to flex more than he does. It should be obnoxious, but he makes it funny.
“Switch out with me,” I tell Dustin, sitting up and grabbing the hand towel to wipe my brow.
He’s about to take the bench. I grab a jump rope.
The alarm sounds.
Captain’s voice rings through the speakers in the bay and through the open door of the weight room. “Fire at Sycamore Assisted Living.”
“Actually?” Dustin asks.
He’s not wrong. Nine out of ten calls to that place are not fire related. And the ones that are, often end up being set by seniors who miss us and want to stir things up to get us over there.
“Not a drill,” David’s voice rings through the bay.
