BROOKS
Friday morning, two nights into this charade, I wake up with another painful rock hard boner and Sydney’s scent wrapped around me. She’s still asleep, golden hair spilled across the pillow between us, her breathing soft and steady. Sometime during the night, my arm brushed against hers—an accident—and I discovered her skin is as soft as it looks. Dangerous information to have about your fake girlfriend who also happens to be your best friend’s sister, who also happens to be sleeping in your bed. Especially when certain parts of your anatomy don’t seem to understand the concept of “fake” or “off-limits.”
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake her. I’m already tuned into her every movement, the exact pitch of her breathing, the way she curls toward me in sleep. This arrangement is going to kill me if I don’t get a grip.
By the time Sydney has gotten up and comes out of the bathroom, hair damp from the shower and dressed in jeans and a blue sweater that makes her eyes pop, I’ve managed to tame both my hair and my thoughts of taking her in every position possible.
“Ready?” She grabs her purse from the dresser.
I admitted to her that my shoulder was aching, and she insisted I go and soak in the hot spring on her parent’s property since today is supposed to be warm. I’m glad to do that—I’m ready for any relief I can get, but the downside is Sydney’s joining me there—in a bikini I saw her grab—so we can prep for our joint sportscast tomorrow.
I grunt in response, still not fully caffeinated. Morning person I am not.
“And they say romance is dead.”
Once I’m driving, Sydney says, “You’re grinding your teeth.”
I force my jaw to relax. “Sorry.”
“Nervous?” She’s fidgeting with the strap of her gym bag, which contains her bikini.
“Just my shoulder,” I lie. What I’m actually nervous about is seeing Sydney half naked, which is ridiculous because I’ve seen her in bikinis a million times. But that was before we started sharing a bed. Before I realized how she tucks her feet under my calf when she thinks I’m asleep because her toes are always cold. Before I noticed the freckle just behind her left ear that I fantasize about kissing.
Jesus.
“The hot spring will help with that,” she says. “Mom says it’s a hundred and five degrees right now. Perfect.”
Another grunt. We’ve gotten a little better at talking to each other over the past couple of days, but sometimes I regress, especially when I’m trying not to say something stupid. Like how I’m starting to think her eyes are the exact color of Clearwater River.
The Holt property comes into view—a sprawling piece of land that borders Trout National Forest. Their property is modest compared to the Kingston estate but loaded with warmth. Even from the outside, with its wraparound porch and wind chimes and the crooked mailbox that Mr. Holt has been “meaning to fix” for the last fifteen years.
Mrs. Holt waves from the porch as we pull up, a steaming mug in her hand. “You kids hungry? I made gluten-free, high-protein cinnamon rolls!”
Sydney moans beside me but calls out. “That sounds amazing.”
“Good.” Mrs. Holt smiles. “Brooks, honey, you look like you could use some feeding up.”
I can’t help but smile. Claire Holt has been trying to “feed me up” since I was fourteen and growing six inches in a single summer. “Thanks, Mrs. H. Maybe after the soak?”
She beams. “They’ll be waiting for you. Tom’s out back getting the things ready.”
Sydney leads me around the side of the house, and I follow, trying not to notice the way her hips sway in her leggings or how the morning sunlight catches in her hair.
The hot spring sits in a natural clearing in the woods behind the house. Steam rises from the surface of the water, which is contained in a stone-lined pool about the size of a small hot tub. Mr. Holt is sweeping the rock pathway that leads there.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says when he spots us, giving Sydney a one-armed hug. “Kingston.” He nods in my direction.
“Mr. Holt.” I suddenly feel seventeen again, and I’m picking Jonah up for hockey practice.
“It’s nice and hot.” He pats the edge of the spring. “With the natural minerals, it should help with that shoulder.”
“Among other things.” My entire body aches from various injuries.
He claps me on my good shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it. Drink lots of water, and holler if you need anything.”
As he heads back to the house, I catch Sydney watching me with an unreadable expression.
“What?” I’m suddenly self-conscious.
