~~~~~
The rest of the week somehow drags and flies by all at once—a weird contradiction that leaves me feeling like I’m floating through a time warp. I spend most of it with Reign, intentionally carving out time for just the two of us. No brothers. No distractions. Just girls, snacks, and a lot of honesty... or at least as much as she’s willing to give.
It’s subtle at first, but the more time we spend together, the lighter she seems. There’s less tension in her shoulders. Her laugh comes easier. And even though she still dodges eye contact when certain topics creep up, I can feel the shift.
I miss the boys, though. That ache is undeniable. It hums under my skin like a low-grade fever, especially when the texts slow down or they resist the urge to “accidentally” show up every five minutes—which, let’s be honest, they’re terrible at. Reign calls me out on it constantly, rolling her eyes like she can read my mind.
“Go ahead,” she snorts one afternoon while painting her toes in my room. “You’re practically vibrating. Text your boyfriends.”
“They’re not—” I start, but the look she gives me is one of pure sarcasm.
“Berkley. You’re glowing. You look like someone who’s ruined and blessed all at once.”
I sputter on my lemonade, and she breaks into laughter. It’s the clearest glimpse of her old self I’ve seen in days.
Eventually, our talks get deeper. She opens up about Dylan—her on-again, off-again trainwreck of a boyfriend. The last time she talked about him in any real way, she admitted he was pressuring her. Not just emotionally, but physically. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to be her first. Now, though... things are different. Or at least, that’s what she says.
“It doesn’t matter as much as I thought it would,” she shrugs as we lie on our backs, staring at the ceiling. “All that build-up around virginity? Kinda overrated.”
Her tone is casual, but there’s something too detached about it. Too practiced. I turn my head to study her, unsure if I’m imagining the shift.
“Wait... are you saying you’re not—”
“Anyway,” she cuts in quickly, sitting up and fluffing her pillow like it personally offended her. “Did you ever finish that playlist you were making me, or was that just a broken promise?”
I let it go. For now. But the look I give her makes it clear I’m not buying the subject change, and she knows it. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t push me away. Not completely.
We spend most of our time at my house because the boys areverygood at popping in when we’re at Reign’s. Which, of course, is exactly why she keeps insisting we stay at mine. Less ambush. Less chaos.
Of course, I manage to steal moments with the guys. Little snippets of time that feel like they’ve been pulled straight from a dream and tucked into reality just for me. A kiss here, a lingering touch there—nothing overly scandalous, but enough to make my heart race and my skin buzz with anticipation.
I try to be good. Really, I do. But keeping my hands to myself? Nearly impossible. And based on the way their fingers brush my hips when no one’s looking, or how their lips always find a way back to mine like they’ve been starving without the taste, I’m not the only one struggling.
It’s not even about the heat—though there’s plenty of that—it’s about the connection. The pull. Like magnets that found their match and are constantly testing the limits of how far they can be apart before snapping back together. Every glance across the room, every accidental brush of our shoulders—it’s electric.
They’re mine now. And I’m theirs.
But for now, we’re playing it cool, or at least we’re trying to. Hidden smiles. Quick goodbyes that linger too long. Secret touches that say everything we’re not allowed to out loud yet.
We’re living in stolen moments... and I’m already greedy for more.
Which is exactly why, when Rowen stops by Thursday night under the guise of “just checking in,” I don’t hesitate to open the door wider and invite him inside. I already know my dad isn’t coming home until Friday night—he mentioned earlier in the week, something about a late meeting before heading back from a conference. He’s the only one of the dads who doesn’t stay overnight, always choosing to drive back instead.
And just to be safe, I already let him know I’d be sleeping over at Reign’s Friday night. That way, when he gets back and sees I’m not home, it doesn’t raise any red flags. Strategic planning? Maybe. But when you’re juggling three insanely attractive guys who make your knees weak just by looking at you—it’s called survival.
Rowen’s standing in my doorway now, one hand braced against the frame, wearing that smile that’s equal parts sweet and cocky. The kind that makes it hard to breathe if I stare too long. He doesn’t say much at first, just watches me with those soft but unreadable eyes, like he’s weighing something in his mind. But I already know. I feel it too.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges.
“Come in,” I say quietly, stepping back to let him through. My heart flutters as he walks past, his fingers grazing mine—intentional, no doubt. That brief touch is like flipping a switch inside me.
The house is quiet. The kind of quiet that only happens when you know no one else is coming home. It buzzes around us with possibility. Anticipation. And even though I told myself I’d take things slow this week... Rowen showing up at my door? That’s a sign. A very tempting one.
And I have no intention of ignoring it.
Chapter Seven
Rowen
