Chapter 11 Heated
Heated
brOOKS
Friday morning, two nights into this charade, I wake up with another painful rock hard boner and Sydney’s scent wrapped around me.
She’s still asleep, golden hair spilled across the pillow between us, her breathing soft and steady.
Sometime during the night, my arm brushed against hers—an accident—and I discovered her skin is as soft as it looks.
Dangerous information to have about your fake girlfriend who also happens to be your best friend’s sister, who also happens to be sleeping in your bed.
Especially when certain parts of your anatomy don’t seem to understand the concept of “fake” or “off-limits.”
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake her. I’m already tuned into her every movement, the exact pitch of her breathing, the way she curls toward me in sleep. This arrangement is going to kill me if I don’t get a grip.
By the time Sydney has gotten up and comes out of the bathroom, hair damp from the shower and dressed in jeans and a blue sweater that makes her eyes pop, I’ve managed to tame both my hair and my thoughts of taking her in every position possible.
“Ready?” She grabs her purse from the dresser.
I admitted to her that my shoulder was aching, and she insisted I go and soak in the hot spring on her parent’s property since today is supposed to be warm.
I’m glad to do that—I’m ready for any relief I can get, but the downside is Sydney’s joining me there—in a bikini I saw her grab—so we can prep for our joint sportscast tomorrow.
I grunt in response, still not fully caffeinated. Morning person I am not.
“And they say romance is dead.”
Once I’m driving, Sydney says, “You’re grinding your teeth.”
I force my jaw to relax. “Sorry.”
“Nervous?” She’s fidgeting with the strap of her gym bag, which contains her bikini.
“Just my shoulder,” I lie. What I’m actually nervous about is seeing Sydney half naked, which is ridiculous because I’ve seen her in bikinis a million times.
But that was before we started sharing a bed.
Before I realized how she tucks her feet under my calf when she thinks I’m asleep because her toes are always cold.
Before I noticed the freckle just behind her left ear that I fantasize about kissing.
Jesus.
“The hot spring will help with that,” she says. “Mom says it’s a hundred and five degrees right now. Perfect.”
Another grunt. We’ve gotten a little better at talking to each other over the past couple of days, but sometimes I regress, especially when I’m trying not to say something stupid. Like how I’m starting to think her eyes are the exact color of Clearwater River.
The Holt property comes into view—a sprawling piece of land that borders Trout National Forest. Their property is modest compared to the Kingston estate but loaded with warmth.
Even from the outside, with its wraparound porch and wind chimes and the crooked mailbox that Mr. Holt has been “meaning to fix” for the last fifteen years.
Mrs. Holt waves from the porch as we pull up, a steaming mug in her hand. “You kids hungry? I made gluten-free, high-protein cinnamon rolls!”
Sydney moans beside me but calls out. “That sounds amazing.”
“Good.” Mrs. Holt smiles. “Brooks, honey, you look like you could use some feeding up.”
I can’t help but smile. Claire Holt has been trying to “feed me up” since I was fourteen and growing six inches in a single summer. “Thanks, Mrs. H. Maybe after the soak?”
She beams. “They’ll be waiting for you. Tom’s out back getting the things ready.”
Sydney leads me around the side of the house, and I follow, trying not to notice the way her hips sway in her leggings or how the morning sunlight catches in her hair.
The hot spring sits in a natural clearing in the woods behind the house. Steam rises from the surface of the water, which is contained in a stone-lined pool about the size of a small hot tub. Mr. Holt is sweeping the rock pathway that leads there.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says when he spots us, giving Sydney a one-armed hug. “Kingston.” He nods in my direction.
“Mr. Holt.” I suddenly feel seventeen again, and I’m picking Jonah up for hockey practice.
“It’s nice and hot.” He pats the edge of the spring. “With the natural minerals, it should help with that shoulder.”
“Among other things.” My entire body aches from various injuries.
He claps me on my good shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it. Drink lots of water, and holler if you need anything.”
As he heads back to the house, I catch Sydney watching me with an unreadable expression.
“What?” I’m suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just... it’s weird seeing you with my parents.”
“I’ve been with them a million times.”
“Yeah, but now you’re doing it as my boyfriend. Fake boyfriend,” she corrects, a flush creeping up her neck. “It’s different.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I change the subject. “So, this broadcast prep. What exactly are we doing?”
She snaps into professional mode. “We need to practice our on-air dynamic. Banter, transitions, that kind of thing. And we should work out our relationship backstory in detail, since people are going to start asking tomorrow.”
I nod, unbuttoning my shirt. Sydney’s eyes widen slightly before she turns away.
“I’ll, uh, go change in the shed.” She grabs her bag and heads for the small wooden structure next to the spring.
While she’s gone, I strip down to my swim trunks and ease myself into the hot water.
The relief is immediate—a pleasant burning sensation that seeps into my muscles and makes my injured shoulder throb less.
I lean back against the stone edge, closing my eyes and letting the heat work its magic.
It smells a little sulfur-y, but the atmosphere of trees and woods as far as the eye can see more than makes up for it.
“Room for one more?”
My eyes snap open to find Sydney standing at the edge of the spring in a navy blue bikini that makes my mouth go dry. She’s so damn fine. Don’t get me wrong, I dig the Smurf pajamas, but this getup… whoa.
“Plenty.” I move to one side even though there’s already enough space for her.
She slides into the water with a small hiss of pleasure that makes my dick over-inflate again. “Oh, that’s nice,” she sighs, sinking down to her shoulders.
And my brain is back to having her underneath me, making those squeaky noises as I do everything to please her.
Enough.
For a moment, we just sit, letting the hot water do its thing. Sydney has her eyes closed, her head tipped back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.
A droplet slides down her neck, disappearing beneath the surface, and I have to force myself to look away.
“So.” She breaks the silence. “Our story. Details.”
“Right,” I say, too quickly.
She nods, opening her eyes to look at me. “After that first date in Boise where you were a gentleman. What happened next? We weren’t in the same town. So when did we see each other again? Did we hook up?”
The thought of Sydney and me hooking up sends another jolt through me. “I sneaked over to Dickens to see you.” I keep my voice neutral. “I took you to my grandfather’s old cabin up in the mountains behind Meema’s house.”
“I forgot about that place—I’ve only ever seen it from a distance. I bet the view’s beautiful.”
“It is. So, yeah, while we were there, I—again—apologized profusely for being such an ass all these years.”
“Wow, fake Brooks is much more emotionally available than real Brooks.”
“Fake Brooks has his shit together. Unlike the real version.”
Something flickers across her face—concern, maybe? “Okay, then what?”
“Then you made me dinner.” I laugh. “Just kidding. No one would believe that.”
She gasps, but I can tell she’s faking it. “Hey, my cooking isn’t that bad.” After a hesitation, she says, “Okay, it’s that bad. You cooked again.”
“That works. Then, outside by the firepit roasting s’mores, maybe you finally admitted you always had a secret thing for me. Or at least my cooking.”
“In your dreams, Brooksie,” she shoots back. “But fine, in this fake world, I admitted those things. What else did we talk about?”
“Sports, duh. Your job at the station. My career. Neutral territory.”
“Okay. And then?”
“Then I took you to that lookout point that’s a small hike from the cabin. The one where you can see all of Beaver County.”
Her eyes widen. “I’d love to see that spot.”
“It’s a good place to think. I go there sometimes when...” I trail off. When my life situation gets too intense. When I can’t sleep trying to picture my future—or lack thereof.
“When what?”
“When I need perspective,” I say lamely. “Anyway, that’s where I took you. Then we watched a movie.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Which one?”
I hadn’t thought this far ahead, but suddenly it’s easy to imagine what I’d do if this were real. “Miracle, of course.”
She looks genuinely surprised. “You remembered that’s my favorite?”
“Jonah mentioned it once or twice,” I say, though the truth is I’ve always noticed what Sydney likes. It’s hard not to when she gets excited about things—her whole face lights up in a way that’s impossible to ignore.
“That’s... actually really thoughtful. Fake you has game.”
“Real me occasionally has moments,” I say, which earns me a laugh.
“Then what?”
“Then we hooked up. Definitely.”
She lets out a laugh, full-bellied and genuine, and I’m reminded how much I love it. Not the one she does on air, but this one—no restraints, that ends with a cute little snort. Finally, she says, “Fine. We hooked up. It was the best night of my life.”
The image forms vividly in my mind. God, if she only knew how much I wish all of those things could happen.
We continue filling in details about subsequent dates, our first fight over me being too closed off about my injury, which hits closer to home than I’d like, and how we eventually decided to keep things quiet until we were sure it was serious.
“And when did it get serious?” Sydney traces patterns in the water with her fingertips.