It wasn’t tentative.
It wasn’t a question.
It was a statement.
I jerked back as if I’d been burned, my hand coming up between us to push at his chest. “What the hell, bro?”
Faye stopped. The room went silent except for our ragged breathing.
He backed away, his face flushed. He looked scared. He looked like he’d just jumped off a building with no safety net. “I … Sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“You kissed me,” I stated, the words flat and stupid in the air.
“I know.” He dragged a hand over his hair, his gaze dropping to the sheets. The confidence he always carried was gone.
“Don’t you dare be sorry,” Faye told Dylan, her voice soft but firm. She crawled up the bed and positioned herself between us, looking back and forth. She put a hand on Dylan’s cheek, turning his face toward hers. “You want to kiss him?” she asked, like she was asking if he wanted a glass of water.
He swallowed hard, then his eyes flicked to me for a second before going back to her. He gave one slight nod.
Faye turned to me, her hand came to my face, her thumb stroking my cheek. “Jase,” she said, her voice dropping to a murmur. “Look at him.”
I did. Dylan looked wrecked.
“He wants to kiss you, and I really,reallywant to see it.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing my ear. “We’re together, so why notallof us be together?”
Because this was Dylan.
My best friend.
My stepbrother.
We had shared everything. We’d grown up together since we were eleven, then we shared a dorm our first year at UCLA, then an apartment for the rest of college. We’d shared countless hotel rooms, all our victories and shitty failures, and we’d always shared her. But this? Him kissing me? That broke every rule I thought we had. It wasn’t just unexpected. It was a boundary I hadn’t known he wanted to cross. I looked at him again. The raw desire in his eyes hadn’t faded. It was mixed with panic now, a fear that he’d broken us. I thought about all the times he’d had my back. All the times I’d had his. He’d never asked me for anything like this.
My resistance melted away.
Faye saw the change in me instantly. She smiled—a real, bright smile—and shifted, giving Dylan room. “Go on,” she whispered.
“You sure?” he asked me.
I nodded slightly, still unsure but now intrigued by what was happening. “Yeah.”
He moved slowly this time, like he was approaching a spooked animal. He cupped the side of my face, his thumb retracing my cheekbone. His touch was cautious, but I didn’t flinch.
I held his gaze.
He leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine again. It was softer this time.
When I didn’t pull back, he deepened it. His tongue touched the seam of my mouth, and I opened for him. The taste of him, of us, exploded in my mouth. It was weird and perfect and so fucking intense my head spun.
One of my hands came up and gripped the wrist of the hand still cupping my cheek, not to pull him off, but to hold on.
To anchor myself.
A groan vibrated in his throat, and he kissed me harder, his other hand tangling in my hair.
“Yes,” Faye breathed. “Just like that.”
I kissed him back. My free hand came up and gripped his shoulder, pulling him closer as we lay on the bed facing each other. It was clumsy and too hard, but he didn’t seem to care. He met me with equal force, his erection pressing into my thigh.
