Page 34 of Reach Around

I’m a few feet away when I pause, my hands clenching at my sides. Bennett’s words echo in my mind, a taunting reminder that whatever this is—whatever I’m feeling—it’s new territory. But it’s territory I’m desperate to claim.

As I make my way through the crowd, a slow boil starts in my gut when I see Shep flashing his trademark grin at Joely. He’s leaning in now, probably dropping one of his cheeky one-liners that no girl at this party—or any other—could resist. But this isn’t just any girl; it’s Joely, and in the blink of an eye, the whole ‘sister’ joke isn’t funny anymore.

I catch Bennett’s eye across the room, and he’s barely containing his laughter as he raises his scotch in the air, obviously enjoying the spectacle of me about to short-circuit. The guy loves a good drama as long as he’s not the star of it.

Shep, oblivious to the storm brewing just a few feet away, reaches out to tug Joely towards the dance floor. She hesitates,her eyes scanning the crowd—landing on me. There’s a question in her gaze, maybe a little alarm, and that’s all the invitation I need.

I close the gap with a few determined strides, cutting in with a quick, “Mind if I cut in?” that’s more statement than question. Shep’s smile falters, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Bro, seriously?” Shep chuckles, but there’s a challenge in his tone. “Trying to keep your little sister safe from the big bad wolf?”

“Something like that,” I mutter, not in the mood for his games. I position myself between him and Joely, offering her a tight smile that I hope she reads as apologetic.

Shep backs off with a shrug, his eyes darting between me and Joely, finally getting the memo. “Alright, man. But remember, the TikTok crowd voted me least likely to date a sister for a reason!”

Bennett’s laugh cuts across the noise of the party, and I can almost hear his next jab about family zones and friend zones blurring lines. But right now, all that fades into the background as I take Joely’s hand, leading her away from Shep and whatever line he was about to cross.

“It’s just a dance,” I tell her, trying to convince us both that it’s all it is. “Um… not… with him.”

But as she places her other hand on my shoulder and we move to the slow rhythm of the music, everything else just kind of fades away. It’s just Joely and me, and the rest of the world can wait.

I take her hand, but my heart’s doing overtime. Her palm is warm in mine, her fingers soft but sure. She lets me draw her close, close enough that I can smell her perfume and feel the whisper of her breath against my neck. The lights blur, the crowd goes fuzzy, and then there’s just music, and her, and the shudder in my chest.

We settle into the rhythm, swaying, every inch of space between us charged with something wild and unfamiliar. She glances up at me, her mouth quirking like she’s about to make a joke, but instead, she just… looks. Really looks. I don’t know what she sees, but I feel seen. Exposed.

I swallow, struggling for words. “You look pretty,” I say, voice hoarse. Stupid, but it’s all I’ve got.

She laughs, low and a little breathless, and her fingers tighten on my shoulder. “You don’t look so bad yourself. For a Slammers forward.”

“Low bar,” I joke, but my chest aches. “That label includes Shep.” My hand drifts to the small of her back and stays there. She doesn’t pull away.

The song changes, a little slower, a little sadder, and for a second, I forget where we are. I let my hand drift, just barely, tracing the curve of her waist. She shivers, maybe from the air, maybe from me. Her voice is soft, too soft, right against my ear.

“Brogan, what are we doing?” she whispers. “You didn’t really need an official date for this party.”

I freeze—just for a second. I could play dumb, but something in her tone won’t let me.

“Crossing a line, I think,” I admit. The air between us goes tense.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t let go. “Is it a mistake?”

I could lie, but my mouth has other plans. “Not for me.”

And just like that, the moment hangs there—undeniable, unfixable, very real.

We stand that way, breathing the same air, hearts pounding, until the song ends. Only then do I realize how close we are, how far from the safe zone we’ve drifted.

But before any of that, the crew makes damn sure to wring every last drop out of the night. Somebody requests the band play 1999, and then everyone’s back on the portable dancefloor—boots thudding, laughter echoing, Bennett and Boone pretending they’ve got rhythm while Gage tries to moonwalk in his socks. Virgil passes around his ancient flask, and Lynsie ends up teaching a dozen grown men the electric slide using only curse words and brute force.

Joely’s propped on a high-top chair, dress still glittering, getting her cheek kissed by every auntie in Sorrowville and accepting it like she’s royalty. Someone drags me into a conga line—Shep, probably, judging by the aggressive jazz hands. For a while, it’s just noise and shots and joy and every kind of bad decision that makes a night unforgettable. By the time the music cuts and the lights come up, we’re sweaty, out of breath, and grinning like idiots—drunk on the company and the chaos.

By the time we step apart, the party has started to fade—lights brighter, voices softer, the band packing up. People filter toward the exit in twos and threes. But nothing feels settled. Not between me and Joely.

She clears her throat, glancing away, cheeks flushed. “I… should probably find my coat.”

“Yeah. I’ll get you home,” I say, my voice a little too rough. “Because you… are… my date.” And tonight, getting her home safe isn’t just about being a good guy. It’s about holding on to whatever the hell just happened between us.

Everybody mills around, but the knot in my stomach only tightens. I keep glancing at Joely, trying to figure out how the hell the night flew by so quickly, and how it ended up like this—with me needing to make sure she gets home safe. It’s not just the gentleman thing to do; it feels necessary, like breathing.

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