Page 56 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

She gives me a little smile, almost like a consolation.

We move toward the hallway together, the house quiet, easy the way it always is with her. Then she brushes past me, her shoulder catching my arm, and I lose all capacity to stop myself.

My fingers find her wrist in the dark, and I hold.

For a second I could still let go. Just say goodnight. Then she looks up at me, and I catch it — the sweetness of the cake on her breath, something warm and citrus, the skin of her hand unbearably soft under my thumb. Her pulse racing.

I don't let go.

She turns, mouth already forming a question, and I don't let her finish it. I pull her in slow, slow enough that she could stop it if she wanted to.

But she doesn't. And I kiss her.

She goes still, long enough that my stomach drops, and then her hand fists in the front of my T-shirt and she's kissing me back, slow and certain, tasting like tea and frosting.

My hand finds the curve of her waist and hauls her in against me, and every place we touch burns hot — her mouth soft and supple against mine, her fingers twisting tighter into my shirt like she's decided she wants no space between us. I can feel her heartbeat where our chests meet, quick, matching mine.

If I die tonight, this is the moment I'll replay right before everything goes dark.

Our lips finally pull apart, before either of us is really ready for it. I brush a loose piece of hair off her face as her mouth falls slightly open as she gasps.

"Everything," I whisper against her lips.

She blinks up at me, breathing uneven. "Hmm?"

I kiss her again, softer this time, and pull back just far enough to say it properly. "Kissing you. It's everything I imagined it would be. And more. You’re everything and more. You always have been.”

For a second something breaks open on her face, and I feel myself fall into her.

Then the shutters come down, quick and practised, like she's caught herself before she lands too hard.

"Thanks for the banana bread," she murmurs.

Then she's gone, down the hall, her door clicking shut before I've worked out how to beg her to stay.

And then I stand there, staring at her closed door, listening to the house settle back into quiet like nothing has changed.

Except that nothing will ever be the same.

THIRTEEN

Alexia

Professor Yamada is halfway through his lecture on hybrid multilateral peacekeeping frameworks when I hear myself say, "Mm. Warm."

The room goes quiet, quieter than it's been all lecture. I haven't exactly been paying attention, but even I know that much.

"Warm?" Professor Yamada repeats, trying to make sense of my outburst. "Could you share more on your thinking there, Alexia?"

Um.

No. No, I cannot.

Not without embarrassing myself further.

Because slow, delicious kisses with your brother's best friend at four in the morning have no relation to the topic at hand whatsoever.

"Um. Reception," I say. "The reception to hybrid frameworks. In the field. Comparatively warm. Wouldn't you say?"