Page 68 of Homecoming

Holy shit.

He turned his head, finally, and she forced herself to do the same, looking down at her plate, her cheeks feeling traitorously pink. “So maybe I’ll see her soon,” she said, voice flat.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Leah glanced up, and her gaze collided with Ava’s: wide and shocked. Slowly, Ava grinned, small and sideways, but encouraging.

Leah ducked her head again and stabbed at her chicken.

~*~

After dinner, Mercy ordered all the guys into the kitchen. “If they cook, we can clean up.” It was one of his standing rules, and everyone, even Aidan, had long since stopped trying to wheedle out of it.

Aidan loaded the dishwasher while Tango packed all the leftovers away and found room for them in the fridge; stacked Tupperware containers on the counter for the rest of them to take home.

Mercy washed the pots, pans, and bigger casserole dishes, and Carter took up a towel and stood beside him to dry.

He couldn’t stop thinking about that moment at dinner. It had started innocently on his part, leaning in close to share pertinent information, only thinking about the fact that Reese – who was acting even weirder than normal tonight – might come cartwheeling down the table with a knife clenched between his teeth if Carter said the wrong thing about his sister.

But then a few silky strands of Leah’s hair had brushed his cheek, and her perfume had filled his senses: soft and floral, a hint of vanilla. He’d known she was too close for him to turn his head, but he’d done it anyway, an impulse he hadn’t been able to check. And then she’d been right there, and his gaze had gone straight to her mouth, and for one breathless moment, he’d thought he would close the last distance and kiss her. Another impulse – pure instinct – but one he’d restrained. Barely.

She’d looked as startled as he felt. Like she couldn’t take her next breath; like her heart was pounding.

Holy shit.

He’d turned away, face flaming, pulse throbbing in his ears. A heated embarrassment that he still couldn’t shake. A distraction.

Beside him, Mercy gave a short, sharp whistle, and he started, and took the clean, dripping skillet from him.

“Sorry.”

“Looking a little preoccupied there, QB,” Mercy said, all deceptive mildness.

Carter shot him a sideways glance, not fooled for a second. Mercy picked up on much more than his usual happy-monster persona indicated.

“Wishing Jazz had shown up? Or glad she didn’t?” He held a bowl under the tap, and turned a knowing, arched-brow look toward Carter.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Carter deadpanned.

Mercy grinned, white teeth flashing like a predator’s. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

“I don’t–”

A crash sounded behind him. Glass breaking.

They both turned, and found Reese standing in the center of the kitchen, staring down at the shattered remains of a beer bottle. Foamy amber liquid was spreading across the floor tiles, and Reese wore a perplexed frown unlike anything Carter had ever seen on the guy.

“Reese?” Mercy asked.

He lifted his head, and he wasgone. Gaze glassy and detached. He swayed a moment, as if pressed by a breeze. He was drunk off his ass.

“Uh…how many beers did he have?” Tango asked.

“I saw him with at least six,” Aidan said. “He’s shitfaced.”

Reese turned toward him slowly, hair falling from behind his ears, falling across his eyes.

It would have been a hilarious sight if Carter wasn’t sure that he could still kill all of them in a matter of minutes, drunk or not.

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