Page 14 of Cross Check Daddies
Her laugh is soft, real, and it does something low and stupid to my chest.
Why the hell am I flirting with my brother’s ex?Fuck she is pretty!
She nods. “I’ll let you know,” she says.
As she turns with Jackson and Buddy, I stand there, helmet dangling from my fingers, jeans torn at the knee, and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to keep it casual when Cam’s ex just made me forget every other woman I’ve met in the last five years.
The door creaks open, and the familiar scent of leather and citrus hits me—our place, where gym bags double as decor and the fridge hums louder than the TV.
I kick off my boots, shoulder aching a little from where I ate it earlier, and head for the kitchen. There’s already a light on in the living room. Cam’s slouched on the couch, laptop open, hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows. He looks up when I walk in, one brow raised like he’s expecting me to complain about something.
I pop open a beer, take a long drink, then lean against the counter. “You’re not gonna believe who I just ran into.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just blinks, tilts his head a bit. “Yeah?”
“Brooke.”
It lands. There’s a beat where everything in the room just stills. His fingers freeze on the keyboard. Eyes don’t blink. Then, just as fast, he’s back to whatever he’s pretending to type, like I didn’t just name-drop the girl who wrecked him back when we still lived with our parents.
“Huh,” he says.
That’s it. Huh.
I wait for more, but nothing comes. “Yeah,” I go on, keeping it casual. “She was walking her bulldog. That thing nearly took me out. Her kid was with her, too—Jackson. Cute kid. Smart.”
Cam nods without looking up. “Cool.”
He’s never been a talker, especially when it comes to stuff that actually matters, but this silence has teeth. There’s something under it, coiled tight. I watch him for a second longer, then decide not to press. If something went down between them when they met up, he’s clearly not ready to spill.
“So,” I say, pushing off the counter. “What are we doing for dinner?”
Cam shrugs. “Don’t feel like cooking.”
I snort. “That’s because you never cook.”
“Still true.”
“Alright. I’ll take a quick shower. We can go out. Hit that place down by the marina?”
“Yeah,” he says, barely glancing up.
I head toward the hallway, then pause when I catch sight of him again. He’s still sitting there, but his eyes are somewhere else entirely—past the screen, past the walls, like he’s following a memory. I know that look. I’ve worn it.
Brooke.
Of course. That woman walked out of a memory today and knocked the air right out of me. She’s got that presence—unbothered, radiant in a way that makes you want to sit down and just... watch. Like the world slows around her. And if I felt it after ten minutes, Cam, who used to orbit her like she was the sun, must’ve gotten knocked flat.
I don’t say anything, just turn and head for the shower.
Some things don’t need words.
CHAPTER SIX
Brooke
The dream shouldn’t linger,but it does. It clings to me like sweat against silk sheets, every flash of heat and moan still vivid. My skin hums with memory, my body aching in places I shouldn’t be aching first thing in the morning.
I jolt upright, chest rising and falling, thighs clenched and slick. Damn. I drag a hand down my face, willing the images to fade.
