Page 51 of Reach Around

“Aren’t we all,” I reply.

Then I see him.

Brogan.

Not in the bathroom. Not outside.

But by the back exit. Leaning against the wall like he needs it to hold him up. Head down. One hand in his pocket. The other gripping the back of his neck like he’s trying to work something out of his spine—or his soul.

He looks up.

And boom.

There it is again. That look. Like I’ve wrecked him in some deep, irreversible way. I hesitate at the corner, watching him—head down, knuckles white on the back of his neck—wondering if I should just turn around. But I can’t. I want him, even if it’s reckless, even if it’s raw.

“Hey,” I say, soft. Cautious.

“Hey,” he echoes, voice gravelly. “You, uh…you meant that? The song? Theclaim.”

I shrug. “I meant every word I sang.”

A beat.

Two.

“Was it about me?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

I blink. He knows. He finally freaking knows.

I nod.

His jaw flexes. His eyes flicker down my body like he’s trying to memorize the version of me I finally let him see.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he says. “But I know I don’t want it to be over.”

“Me neither.”

He steps forward. Stops just short of touching me.

“Then don’t walk away, JoJo.”

I smile. Just a little.

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

And just like that, we’re right back on the edge.

One wrong move and we fall.

One right one?

And we fly.

Our eyes lock, and Brogan reaches for me, fingers tangling in my shirt and pulling me with him, not toward the exit but sideways—right into the dim little supply closet off the hallway, slamming the door with his boot. I barely have time to yelp before his mouth is on mine, hungry and wild and all the things we’ve both been holding back for way too long.

“Brogan—” I gasp, but he’s already got his hands under my shirt, fumbling at my waistband, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re gonna get us caught. What if your Mom walks in here.”

“Worth it,” he mutters, kissing a path down my throat. “I can’t wait, JoJo. Not after that. Not after you sang to me like that.”