I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. What was I supposed to say? Yeah, Mom, Kent’s great. We’re fucking now. Hope that doesn’t make Thanksgiving awkward.

  I set the phone down without responding.

  The coffee finished brewing and I poured myself a cup, leaning against the counter as I sipped it. Across the kitchen counter I could see Kent still sprawled across the bed, one arm flung over his face. Something warm settled in my chest at the sight.

  Three weeks. It had been three weeks since that first kiss, since everything between us had shifted and reformed into something I still didn’t have words for. Three weeks of learning his body, his sounds, the way his face looked when he came. Three weeks of falling asleep next to him and waking up wrapped around him.

  Three weeks, and I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

  The realization should have terrified me. It probably would have a month ago. But standing here in the quiet morning light, watching him sleep in my bed, it just felt inevitable. Like this was always where we were heading, even when we’d hated each other.

  “You’re thinking too loud,” Kent’s voice came from the bedroom, rough with sleep.

  I smiled, carrying my coffee over to the living room. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t. Bed got cold.” He pushed himself up on his elbows, his hair sticking up in about seven different directions. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  He groaned, flopping back down. “Why are we awake?”

  “I’m awake. You’re late for work.”

  “I just want to stay in bed with you though…” The words were mumbled into the pillow, but I heard them clearly enough. They made my chest ache in the best way.

  I set my coffee on the table and crawled back into bed, immediately getting pulled into Kent’s arms. He nuzzled into my neck, his stubble scratching pleasantly against my skin.

  “Better,” he murmured.

  We lay there in comfortable silence for a while. I traced patterns on his arm where it was wrapped around me, feeling the solid weight of him at my back. This was my favorite part of the day. I loved these quiet moments before the world intruded, when it was just us.

  “My mom texted,” I said eventually.

  Kent’s arm tightened around me. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

  “Asking how things are. How you’re settling in.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  “Nothing yet.” I turned in his arms so I could see his face. “I don’t know what to tell her.”

  Kent was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching mine. “Do you want to tell her?”

  “I don’t know.” I traced the line of his jaw with my finger. “Part of me does. But the other part is terrified of how they’d react. Your dad especially.”

  “Yeah.” Kent’s expression darkened. “My dad would lose his shit. Probably disown me.”

  “Would that bother you?”

  He considered the question seriously. “A month ago, I would’ve said yes. Now?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s already disappointed in me for breaking up with Brittany and he’s been such a dickhead. What’s one more thing?”

  “Kent—”

  “I’m not saying I want to tell them,” he clarified quickly. “I don’t really want to tell anyone. I’m just saying that if it came down to choosing between you and his approval, I know which one I’d pick.”

  The words settled over me like a blanket, warm and reassuring. I leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, trying to pour everything I was feeling into it.

  When I pulled back, Kent was smiling. “What was that for?”

  “Just because.” I kissed him again. “You hungry? I was thinking about taking you out for breakfast.”

  “You mean like at a restaurant?”

  “Yeah, there’s this cute little place that makes really good pancakes if you want to try it. But only if you want to,” I added quickly. “I know a crowded restaurant is a lot different than a dark movie theater.”

  Kent’s expression shifted, something vulnerable flickering across his face before he masked it. “I want to,” he said quietly. “I mean, it’s just breakfast, right? Two stepbrothers grabbing food. Nothing suspicious about that.”

  “Right,” I agreed, even though we both knew it felt like more than that. Everything felt like more than it was now.

  He climbed out of bed, stretching in a way that made his t-shirt ride up and expose a strip of skin that I definitely didn’t need to be distracted by this early in the morning. “Give me twenty minutes to shower and get ready.”

  “Take your time. I need to respond to a couple emails, anyway.”

  I watched him disappear into the bathroom, heard the water start running a moment later. My phone was still on the counter where I’d left it, my mom’s message glowing accusingly on the screen. I picked it up, staring at it for a long moment before typing out a response.

  Me: Things are good. Kent’s doing well. Work is busy. Will call you soon.

  It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Just an incomplete version of the truth. The full truth, that Kent and I were sleeping together, that I was pretty sure I was falling in love with him, that we were sneaking around like teenagers… That would have to wait. Maybe forever.

  I pushed the thought aside and focused on getting dressed. By the time Kent emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and smelling like my body wash, I was ready to go.

  The drive to the diner took about fifteen minutes. It was a hole-in-the-wall place I’d discovered during my first year in college, tucked between a laundromat and a used bookstore. The kind of place that looked sketchy from the outside but served the best blueberry pancakes I’d ever tasted.

  “This is it?” Kent asked as I pulled into the small parking lot.

  “Don’t judge. Trust me.”

  Inside, the diner was exactly as I remembered. It was full of vinyl booths, checkered floors, and the smell of coffee and bacon heavy in the air. We slid into a booth near the back, and a waiter appeared almost immediately with menus and coffee.

  “Good morning, gentleman,” the waiter said, his gaze flicking over Kent before coming to rest on me. He smiled wide, his gaze raking over my body. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Coffee for both of us,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral even though I could feel Kent’s eyes on me.

  The waiter, his nametag said Ryan, lingered a beat too long, his smile widening. “Great. I’ll be right back to take your order, handsome.” His fingers brushed against mine as he took the menus back, and I pulled my hand away quickly.

  I didn’t miss the way Kent’s jaw tightened, or how his hand clenched into a fist on the table.

  “So the pancakes are really good here,” I said, pretending I hadn’t noticed the interaction. “They do this thing with fresh blueberries and⁠—”

  “He was flirting with you.”

  I looked up to find Kent staring at me, his expression dark. “What?”

  “That waiter. He was flirting with you.” His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the edge underneath.

  “He was just being friendly⁠—”

  “James.” Kent leaned forward slightly. “I know what flirting looks like. He was checking you out, and he touched your hand, and he called you handsome.”

  Something warm curled in my stomach at the possessiveness in his tone. “Are you jealous?”

  “No.” But the word came out too quickly, and the muscle in his jaw was still twitching.

  “You’re totally jealous.”

  “I’m not—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe a little. Is that what you want to hear?”

  I reached across the table, my hand covering his. “Kent, I’m not interested in him.”

  “I know that.” He turned his hand over, threading our fingers together for just a moment before pulling away. “It’s just weird, you know? Watching someone else look at you like that. Knowing I can’t do anything about it.”

  “You could,” I said quietly. “If you wanted to.”

  His eyes met mine, something vulnerable flickering there. “I’m not ready for that yet. For people to know.”

  “I know. And that’s okay.” I meant it, even though part of me wished things were different. “But you don’t need to worry about random waiters. I’m with you.”

  The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ryan returned with our coffee, and I made a point of not looking at him directly as I ordered the blueberry pancakes. Kent ordered the same, his voice clipped and professional. When the waiter left, Kent took a long drink of his coffee, still watching the guy’s retreating back with suspicion.

  “You’re cute when you’re jealous,” I said, unable to help myself.

  “Shut up.” But he was fighting a smile.

  “No, really. It’s hot. Very caveman of you.”

  “I said shut up.” He kicked my foot under the table, but he was grinning now.

  We fell into easy conversation after that, talking about nothing and everything. Kent told me about a project at work that was giving him trouble, and I told him about the rebrand I was trying to finish that the client kept changing their mind about. Normal stuff. The kind of stuff couples talked about over breakfast.

  The thought made my chest tight. Were we a couple? We’d never actually defined what this was between us. We were sleeping together, spending all our time together, and I was pretty sure I was in love with him. But we’d never said the words. Never put a label on it.

  “You’re doing it again,” Kent said, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Doing what?”

  “Getting that look on your face like you’re overthinking something.”

  I took a sip of my coffee to buy myself time. “Just thinking about work stuff.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop. Our food arrived a few minutes later, delivered by a different waiter this time, and Kent’s shoulders relaxed completely.

  The pancakes were exactly as good as I remembered. Kent made appreciative sounds after his first bite, and I felt ridiculously pleased that I’d brought him here.

  “Okay, you were right,” he admitted. “These are really good.”

  “Told you.”

  We ate in comfortable silence for a while, and I found myself watching him. The way he cut his pancakes into precise squares before eating them. The little furrow that appeared between his brows when he was concentrating. The way his foot kept finding mine under the table, like he needed that point of contact even in public.

  I was so gone for him it wasn’t even funny.

  “What?” Kent asked, catching me staring.

  “Nothing. Just curious if you and Brittany ever did stuff like this together.”

  Kent’s expression shifted, something guarded sliding into place. He set his fork down carefully, like he was buying himself time to think.

  “Not really,” he said finally. “I mean, we went out to eat, but it wasn’t like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on his water glass. “With Brittany, everything had to be perfect. The right restaurant, the right time, the right clothes. She’d get upset if I suggested somewhere that wasn’t Instagram-worthy.” He looked up at me, and there was something vulnerable in his eyes. “This is better. Just... normal. Easy.”

  The words settled over me, warm and satisfying. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He picked his fork back up, stabbing at a piece of pancake. “I didn’t realize how exhausting it was, trying to be the person she wanted me to be. Always performing, you know?”

  I did know. I’d spent years performing myself, hiding who I was from people who wouldn’t accept it. But with Kent, I didn’t have to do that anymore. I could just be myself.

  “You don’t have to perform with me,” I said quietly. “I like you just the way you are.” Then I added, “When you’re not being a dick of course.”

  He smiled, his eyes meeting mine across the table, and something passed between us. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition. “I know. That’s what makes this so scary.”

  “Scary how?”

  “Because I’ve never felt like this before.” The admission seemed to cost him something. “With anyone. And I don’t know what to do with that.”

  My heart was hammering in my chest. This felt like the edge of something important, like we were standing on the precipice of a conversation that would change everything.

  “Kent—”

  “Sorry to interrupt.” Ryan was back, his smile still firmly in place as he looked at me. “Just wanted to check if you needed anything else. More coffee? Maybe my number?”

  The question hung in the air, bold and unmistakable. I felt my face heat up, acutely aware of Kent’s eyes on me.

  “We’re good,” I said quickly. “Just the check, please.”

  Ryan’s smile faltered slightly, but he recovered. “Sure thing. I’ll be right back with that.”

  As soon as he walked away, I looked at Kent. His expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had clenched into fists on the table.

  “God… it really is adorable when you get all worked up about me,” I grinned.

  Kent just glared, stabbing his pancakes. “Shut up.”

  Chapter 23

  Kent

  The drive home was pleasant, the feeling of James’s fingers laced through mine reassuring me that he wasn’t going anywhere. That waiter had put me on edge. He was handsome, confident, and since he hadn’t bullied James as a teenager, he was already a hundred times better than I was. James deserved someone that was good to him, which I was trying to be. But sometimes I found myself thinking that I didn’t deserve him.

  However, that feeling melted away as I held his hand. He was there beside me, solid and warm. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  I pulled into the apartment complex and parked, but neither of us moved to get out of the car right away. I turned to look at James, studying his profile in the late morning light that streamed through the windshield. He must have felt my gaze because he turned to face me, one eyebrow raised in question.

  “What?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

  “Nothing. Just...” I hesitated, trying to find the right words. “Thanks for breakfast.”

  “You’re thanking me for forcing you to eat pancakes?”

  “No. I’m thanking you for being patient with me.” I squeezed his hand, still tangled with mine. “I know this isn’t easy. The sneaking around, the not being able to tell anyone. I appreciate you not pushing.”

  James’s expression softened. “Kent, I told you. We go at your pace. I’m not going to force you into anything you’re not ready for.”

  My throat tightened with an emotion I didn’t dare name. Before I could respond, I caught sight of someone walking toward the building entrance. Trevor. Fucking Trevor.

  “Shit,” I muttered, dropping James’s hand instinctively.

  James followed my gaze and tensed beside me. “Maybe he won’t see us.”

  But it was too late. Trevor had spotted my truck and was now staring directly at us, his expression hardening into something ugly. He changed course, heading straight for us.

  “Fuck,” James whispered. “Kent, just stay calm, okay?”

  “I am calm,” I lied, my heart hammering against my ribs.

  Trevor rapped his knuckles against my window, the sound sharp and demanding. I took a deep breath and rolled it down, forcing my face into what I hoped was a neutral expression.

  “Can we help you?” I asked, my voice coming out steadier than I expected.

  “Just wanted to see if you two gave it up yet,” Trevor said, his gaze flicking between James and me. “If you two were still... whatever the fuck this is.”

  I felt James shift beside me, ready to intervene, but I put a hand on his knee to stop him.

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, “but James is mine. And that has nothing to do with you. Got it?”

  Trevor’s laugh was harsh and humorless. “Right.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know what you’re doing is sick, right? It’s fucking disgusting. And I’m not scared of you.”

  I felt something snap inside me, a surge of protective rage that blotted out everything else. Before I could think better of it, I was out of the truck, grabbing Trevor by the front of his shirt and shoving him back against the neighboring vehicle.

  “Kent!” James was scrambling out of the passenger side, his voice sharp with alarm.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what you think,” I growled, my face inches from Trevor’s. “You don’t know me, you don’t know James, and you sure as hell don’t get to judge us.”

  Trevor’s eyes widened with surprise, but he recovered quickly, his mouth twisting into a sneer. “What you’re doing doesn’t seem wrong to you?”

  “What I’m doing is none of your fucking business,” I said, my grip tightening on his shirt. “But what you’re going to do is stay the hell away from both of us. If I ever see you near James again, if I hear you’ve been talking about us to anyone, I will make you regret it. Understand?”

  “Kent, that’s enough,” James was beside me now, his hand on my arm. “He’s not worth it.”

  Trevor’s gaze shifted to James, something like hurt flashing in his eyes before hardening again. “You can do better than him, you know. I know his type. He’s just using you to figure his shit out. Once he does, he’ll drop you like yesterday’s trash.”

  I pulled back my fist, ready to wipe that smug look off his face, but James caught my arm.

  “Don’t,” he said firmly. “He wants you to hit him. Then he can press charges and really make trouble for us.”

  He was right, and I knew it. With enormous effort, I released Trevor’s shirt and stepped back, my hands shaking with adrenaline.

  “Stay away from us,” I repeated, my voice low and dangerous. “I won’t warn you again.”