Page 36 of Reach Around

I take a deep breath, the words feeling like a confession. “I could never feel like this about a sister.”

Her lips part. She’s biting down on a smile—or maybe a gasp. There’s a flush on her cheeks, and her fingers tighten around the fabric at her chest like she’s holding onto the last bit of restraint she has left. The urge to touch her is a living thing.

The air between us crackles with the unsaid, with every glance and touch we’ve shared leading up to this moment. Her eyes search mine, looking for the truth in the dim light. There’s a pause, heavy and thick with possibility, as we stand on the brink of something neither of us can fully grasp yet.

For a heartbeat, I just stare at her—those dark eyes burning a hole right through me. Every inch of my body is screaming tomove, to take, to finally claim what I’ve been pretending I don’t want.

But there’s this war raging inside. I’m not supposed to want her. I’m not supposed to touch her. All those years of lines, all the jokes, all the brother-sister bullshit—none of it stands a chance against what’s humming in the air right now.

I force out a breath, chest tight. “Joely,” I rasp, voice wrecked and raw. “Tell me to go, and I’ll go. But if you don’t, I’m done pretending. I can’t do it anymore.”

She looks at me, wide-eyed—maybe scared, maybe just as lost. The dress slips a little lower. “Brogan…” It’s all breath, all wanting. “Don’t go.”

My heart slams against my ribs. For a split second, I just stare at her, searching for any sign this is real and not just wishful thinking. Her chest is rising and falling fast. She’s trembling too—God, she wants this as much as I do. That final green light is what undoes me.

That’s it. My last thread snaps.

Chapter Twelve

Joely

There’s something about the dead of night—the way the cold presses up against your windows, making the world feel smaller, quieter, like every secret and longing has nowhere to hide. Maybe that’s why, when the lights in Joely Parnell’s little house burn bright long after midnight, folks in town turn down their TVs and wonder if hope might finally be thawing out an old ache. Around here, everyone roots for their own, even if we pretend not to notice the way two people finally find each other. Maybe that’s just what happens in my houses—sooner or later, the truth gets warm enough to come inside.

Playlist: Like Real People Do by Hozier

Brogan closes the distance between us, slow and careful, like he’s giving me time to stop him.

I’m not going to.

When his hand brushes against mine, my breath catches. When his fingers slide along my jaw, everything else fades. The hum of the old space heater, the ticking clock, the buzz in my head—it all quiets until there’s just the thud of my pulse and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“You sure?” he whispers, close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And then he kisses me.

It’s not some slow-motion movie scene. It’s a rush—his hands tangled in my hair, my back hitting the door, breath mingling with his as he presses me closer. My dress is caught between us. The world tilts and narrows, all nerves and anticipation. His lips are warm, insistent—hungry like he’s been waiting years for this. My body lights up, every inch of me keyed to him, and I melt into the kiss, heart pounding, skin tingling everywhere he touches.

It’s messy and a little wild, nothing careful about it. There’s a laugh caught in my throat, his fingers skimming the bare skin inside my unzipped dress, and then I’m not thinking about anything but how much I want more.

God, I want to stay right here, tangled up with him, his mouth on mine, the storm outside, for once, not half as loud as what’s happening between us.

By the time we make it to my bedroom, I don’t even remember how we got there. One minute, I’m pressed up against Brogan’s chest, my fingers tangled in the collar of his stupidly perfect dress shirt, and the next, I’m breathless sitting on the edge of my bed, watching him like he might disappear if I blink too hard.

I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve had flings. But this is Brogan. My Brogan. The guy I’ve known since we were in braces. The guy who once tackled three boys in middle school for calling me four-eyes. The guy who has no idea he’s been orbiting the center of my heart for longer than I care to admit.

And he’s looking at me like I’m made of fire.

“You’re staring again,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath as I kick off my heels. My knees are still a little shaky, and I brace my hands behind me to stay upright.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, matter-of-factly, like it’s the easiest truth in the world. “Like… stupid beautiful. Like why the fuck haven’t I been worshiping you for years beautiful.”

I bark out a laugh, surprised by the raw edge in it. “You’ve seen me hungover with eyeliner smudged halfway to my collarbone and coffee breath that could kill a plant.”

“Yup.” He steps between my knees, cupping the side of my face with his warm, calloused palm. “And even then, I thought you were the best thing in the room.”

My heart stutters.

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