Page 21 of My Brother's Best Men
I look up into Elijah’s dark irises, feeling the weight of his words.
You look like you could use a friend right about now.
He’s not wrong. I could use a friend. The problem is we’re not friends. Not anymore.
But maybe for the moment, I could just…pretend that we are. Pretend that I didn’t leave. Pretend that I didn’t delete his social media in a fit of jealous rage. Pretend that I don’t want to wrap my arms around him right now and bury myself in his silky shirt and let his scent become my damn oxygen. Pretend that I don’twant to kiss him right now, because I’m suddenly more than acutely aware of how close his mouth is to mine.
And then I say the very thing I should not fucking say. Because I’m drunk, and more than just the wine is hitting me right now.
“Keaton’s not sick,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. Elijah’s thumb continues to stroke my knuckles, his palm heating against mine.
“He’s not?” His voice is warm, dark. Smooth, like molten chocolate.
I shake my head, my entire body flushing with heat, though I’m not sure if it is fromhimor the wine. Or the admission, or maybe a little of everything. Whatever it is, I blame it for the words that fall out of my mouth without warning.
“Well, he’s sick alright. Sick bastard, technically,” I say, leaning into his space. My chest brushes against his and I realize his hand is still in my hair. He hasn’t moved it, his fingers gently gliding through my locks. “Found him in our apartment with his cock in some other girl’s ass.”
I have the faintest thought to apologize for my language. Not that Elijah’s never heard me swear, but I know I must sound drunk right now speaking this way in this tone—and I don’t want to appear unpolished or imperfect.
Elijah doesn’t like messy. He likes things to be perfect, and I’m far from perfect.
His hold on my hand tightens, and I watch as his jaw tenses, watch as the unmistakable glimmer of anger courses through his soft brown gaze.
“I didn’t really think twice, just…told him it was over and hopped the first plane here.”
“Jesus, Soph, why didn’t you say something?” he asks, leaning closer, his lips inching ever closer to my own.
I could kiss him. Easily. All it would take is one swift motion, one bridge of the gap, to know what he tastes like.
To know if his kiss would dispel all my problems the way his arms always used to.
“My fiancé cheated on medoesn’t exactly feel like appropriate dinner conversation,” I joke, my chuckle half-hearted and tinged in sarcasm as well as anxiety. Elijah lets out a deep sigh. “Besides, I don’t exactly want to bring down the vibe, you know? We’re supposed to be celebrating, supposed to?—”
“What a fucking idiot,” he says, and I don’t miss the animosity, the heat in his tone. It makes my insides twist with delight.
I give him a soft smirk, his words resonating deep within me. Because he’s right, Keatonisa fucking idiot. It’s nice to be validated. Especially by yourbest friend.
Well, ex–best friend, but still.
Right now it kind of feels like we’re not ex-anythings.
Right now, it kind of feels like history is repeating itself.
Like when Roman Corden stood me up for prom and I arrived alone…
Elijah and his date Jennifer had gone with Benny and Sam and their dates in one big group. I’d decided to go without the asshole, convinced I could have a good time on my own, butwhen I got there, I suddenly realized I wasaloneat the prom and had no one to walk with, dance with, or…
Elijah’s breath is warm on my skin as his gaze dips from my eyes to my mouth, then back up to my eyes so quickly I almost wonder if I imagined it.
Maybe I did.
Clearly, I’m not in my right mind. There’s a lot buzzing in my brain right now and it’s hard to keep things straight.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Just do it,my brain says, edging me toward mistakes I know I can’t come back from.
And then I feel him. Or rather, the softness of his lips crashing against my own, and I think maybe Ihavelost my marbles. I startle from the sudden shift in sensation, the warmth that floods me.
