Page 92 of Reach Around

Shep appears out of nowhere, hair sticking up like he got electrocuted by a skate sharpener. “Tell me it was Joely.”

I just look at him.

“Ohhh boy,” he whistles. “You got that stupid face you only make when she’s involved. It’s like you’re constipated but also seeing heaven.”

Bennett snorts. “Better than the usual dumbass face he wears.”

“Shut up,” I say, grabbing my stuff.

“Going somewhere?” Bennett asks.

“Yep.”

“To Joely’s?”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

They both know.

And even if I tried to explain what’s happening between me and Joely right now, I don’t think I could. It’s bigger than just sneaking around or hooking up. It’s her eyes in the dark. Her smile when she thinks I’m not looking. Her voice calling my name like it means something. Like I mean something.

Yeah.

I’m going to her place.

And I’m not leaving anytime soon.

By the time I pull into Joely’s driveway, my thoughts have taken a nosedive from playful to something bordering on reckless.

Snow’s packed into the tire ruts. Her porch light’s glowing like a damn beacon. My heart kicks in my chest like I’m seventeen again, about to sneak into a girl’s room while her parents sleep upstairs. Only this isn’t some teenage crush. This is Joely. This is real.

I’ve got a dress I need help getting out of.

She was teasing. But God, I want her to mean it.

I cut the engine, but I don’t get out right away. Instead, I catch my reflection in the rearview, run a hand through my hair, and immediately regret it when it sticks up like I’ve been zapped by Shep’s static electricity prank again. I swipe my palm across my jeans, trying to dry off the sweat that’s somehow already slicking my hands.

What the hell am I even going to say? “Hey, Joely, can you tell me why I can’t breathe right unless I’m with you?” Yeah, smooth. I practice a half-smile. Way too creepy. I try again, more casual—cool, confident, Brogan Foster style.

Nope. Still looks like a guy who just got benched for excessive horniness.

Screw it. I grab my stuff, try not to trip over my own feet, and walk up to the door like I haven’t spent the last two minutes failing basic human interaction.

I knock once before she opens the door like she’s been standing on the other side, waiting. Her eyes meet mine, and for a beat, the air freezes. Not from the cold. From us.

“Hey,” she says, a little breathless.

“You sure you don’t need help with that dress?” I ask, voice lower than it should be. Half a growl.

“I don’t wear dresses unless I have to.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s color blooming in her cheeks. “Get in here before you freeze your eyelashes off.”

I step inside. The door shuts behind me and everything goes quiet. Just the sound of our breathing, the whisper of her socks on hardwood, the pounding of my pulse like a damn war drum.

She’s in leggings and one of those soft hoodies I love seeing her in. Comfortable. Cozy. A little dangerous when paired with the memory of last time.

“Bonfire?” she asks, grabbing her coat off a hook.

I blink. “You want to go back out?”

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