Chapter 6
SIX
brODY
The second she turns fully toward me, I stop pretending I’m managing this.
Because I’m not.
She’s close enough now that I can see the exact expression I’ve been avoiding all night—calm on the surface, but her patience quickly evaporating.
“You’re still doing it,” she says.
My jaw tightens. “Doing what?”
“Acting like this is going to go away if you wait long enough.”
That’s not wrong.
It’s not something I’m willing to admit out loud while I’m standing three feet away from her on a hotel terrace in Reykjavik with her brother inside.
“I’m not waiting,” I say.
She tilts her head. “Then what are you doing?”
The question should be simple.
It isn’t.
Because I’ve been doing this for years—standing on the edge of something I never crossed, telling myself it was for the right reasons. Tony. Timing. Distance. All of it sounded reasonable when I kept it theoretical.
It doesn’t feel theoretical anymore.
It feels like her standing there looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room she’s not willing to pretend about.
I step closer. “I don’t know what you think is happening here,” I say quietly.
Her mouth twitches slightly. Not a smile. Something sharper than that.
“That’s the problem,” she says. “You always know exactly what’s happening. You just don’t act on it.”
Ouch. Because it’s true.
My hand lifts before I decide to stop it. “You’re in a dangerous mood,” I say.
“I’ve been in it for a while,” she replies.
That’s the thing about her. She doesn’t escalate. She’s just stopped backing down.
My hand finally settles at her waist. Her sharp inhalation makes my heart stutter-step.
“Brody,” she says, quieter now.
My name sounds different in her voice when it isn’t part of flirting. It sounds like a line being crossed.
I should pull back. I don’t.
“You don’t get to say my name like that,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Like you already know what happens next.”
Her fingers slide up the front of my shirt, not grabbing, just holding. Testing whether I’m going to move away.
I don’t. I can’t.
“That’s the thing,” she says. “I don’t know what happens next. I just know you’ve been acting like you do.”
There it is.
No performance. No teasing.
Just the truth neither of us has been willing to face.
I exhale slowly. This is where I’ve always stopped. Every version ends with me stepping back first.
Not this time.
My grip tightens at her waist. “You’re sure?”
She doesn’t hesitate, and she doesn’t need words to consent. Not when her mouth meets mine like she’s tired of waiting for me to do it right.
Cari isn’t tentative. She isn’t uncertain. She knows what she wants. And what she wants is me.
And that’s what breaks me—not the kiss itself, but the fact that she’s been waiting for the same thing I have and I’ve been the only reason it didn’t happen sooner.
I don’t hold back after that.
When we finally break for air, she doesn’t go far. Her forehead brushes mine, her breath uneven, her hand still holding onto my shirt like she forgot to let go.
I should say something. I don’t. Because anything I say right now is going to change the shape of everything that comes after it.
And I’m not ready to pretend I don’t know that.