Bro Code Page 3

  “I guess I should be getting to bed. It's late.” She turns to step through the door, but pauses one last time to say over her shoulder, “Sorry, again.”

  “It's okay. You'll just have to return the favor sometime.” The words slip out of my mouth before I realize how they sound, and I've never been so glad to hear Ava giggle and close the door on me.

  Damn, that was way too close to crossing the line. Teasing her is one thing, but actually flirting back is asking for trouble. That's not a game I can afford to play, much less win.

  I turn off the lights before I can do something I'll really regret and sink down onto Nick's old bed. It used to be big enough for us to sit side by side and play games, but now my feet hang over the edge. I laugh to myself, moving the pillow back a couple inches so I can actually lie down the proper way.

  Alone in the dark, my mind starts to wander, and I'm way too keyed up for sleep despite my excuses. Getting off just once in the bathroom wasn't enough to set my body at ease, not when simply talking to Ava has me this worked up all over again. Sure, I'd been looking forward to this visit but I hadn't thought there was anything in this state to really miss. I'd outgrown Indiana. Chicago looked like the perfect land of opportunity in my twenties and I couldn't get out of this little town fast enough to pursue my dreams.

  Except she's still here, trespassing through my thoughts. I have to keep reminding myself she’s off-limits; she loves her parents too much to leave, and with the factory passing into her hands, she's anchored to this place. It's simply one more reason in a laundry list of others as to why I can't have her, and why I shouldn't even be thinking about it. In a few days, we'll both be back to our own lives, and we'll forget about each other all over again.

  At least, I sure as hell hope so.

  Chapter Four

  Ava

  It has easily been almost ten years since I cracked the spine on my high school yearbook, but after seeing more of the star of my freshman fantasies than fifteen-year-old me ever dreamt up, I find myself wanting to wander down memory lane. Last night’s dreams featured an alternate reality where I was allowed to touch and tease Barrett, watching his eyes darken with lust. Waking up to the reality that I had ogled his package for a solid minute somehow felt less magical and a hell of a lot more awkward.

  But wanting to hold on to my fantasy a little longer, I roll out of bed and scan the bookshelf until my finger falls upon the familiar bright blue plastic binding of my sophomore year edition of the Harrison High yearbook. I settle back into bed, flipping past football photos and ghosts of prom dresses past until I land on the spread of the freshman class. There I was, one tiny rectangular picture in a line of portraits preserving memories of hairstyles that we’d all rather forget. Even in that tiny picture you can tell how skinny I was. My curves didn’t really start showing up until after high school graduation, and by then, Barrett was already through his undergrad and in law school on the east coast.

  I lock eyes with the teenage version of myself with stick-straight brown hair and a mouth full of braces, wondering if Barrett still sees me like this—his best friend’s lanky, metal-mouthed little sister.

  I sure don’t think of him as just a hunky football player anymore, but then again, after last night I’m not certain I’ll be thinking of him any other way than naked, dripping wet from the shower. Still, talking to him last night was fun and, shockingly, less awkward than I would’ve expected after the shower mishap. But this is my brother’s best friend, and the rules, although not always spoken, are incredibly clear. Despite my lingering feelings for him, talking is as far as things can go.

  I reach for my phone to check the time—it’s later in the morning than I thought, and the longer I wait to claim the bathroom, the slimmer the odds of any hot water being left for me. I slide the yearbook back into its place on the bookshelf, then head off to the bathroom. I make a point of locking the bathroom door behind me. No repeats of last night with me on display instead.

  I miss the privacy of the bathroom in my apartment, but since moving back home to take over the plant, one of the very few things that has remained the same is my shower routine. From the moment I step into the bathroom, it’s all second nature. I turn the handle all the way to the right before shimmying my pajama pants off my hips, letting the steam inch over the corners of the mirror. Next comes the facemask, which I squeeze into my palm and smear across my cheeks and nose, my skin tightening pleasantly as the mask cements. With so much time spent stressing over Dad’s health and the future of the company, the few moments where I get to take a deep breath and focus on myself are more valuable than ever. These moments are what keep me sane.

  After my shower I pick out a cozy red sweater that hugs my frame in all the right places and swipe a thick coat of mascara over my lashes. There's no point in applying a full face of makeup, there’s too much party prepping ahead of me. The whole house smells like eggs and bacon grease. Which I’m sure is the result of Mom’s excitement of having a house full of ‘kids’ to cook for again, but when I walk into the kitchen, Nick is the one laying bacon in a pan. Mom and Dad must have already left for Dad’s doctors’ appointments.

  “Good morning,” I say, selecting an especially crispy piece of bacon from the plate that Nick has piled up.

  “How'd you sleep?” he asks, sliding an egg off the skillet and onto a plate.

  My face threatens to heat again at the memory of last night. “Not too bad. And thanks for cooking. This looks great.”

  Nick shrugs. “I can’t take all the credit. I was totally prepared to eat cookies for breakfast. Barrett was the one who suggested something a bit heartier.”

  I turn around and, sure enough, there’s Barrett, somehow making pouring coffee look like a sex act. I focus with laser-like intensity on the handle of the coffeepot to avoid letting my eyes wander up his forearms to his shoulders or worse - down to check if those sweatpants are showing off a second viewing of last night’s performance.

  “Want some?” he offers. I snap out of it to see that, unfortunately, he’s gesturing at the coffeepot and nothing else. There’s plenty I want from Barrett, but coffee has very little to do with it.

  “You might want to take that to go,” Nick says. “We were talking about heading out to pick up party stuff once we get these dishes done.”

  “How about you two go ahead and I’ll take care of the dishes?” I offer. “Teamwork.”

  As if on cue, Nick’s phone buzzes on the counter. He snatches it up and answers it with a sly grin.

  “Hi Dana, I’m so glad you called back.” He presses his phone against his chest to mute things on his end. “Would you guys mind covering party supply duty?” he asks.

  Barrett smirks, but agrees with a nod and a slow sip of coffee. I remember Dana, one of Nick’s high school flings. I haven’t heard him mention her in years, but who am I to stand in the way of his romantic endeavors?

  The phone goes back up to Nick’s ear as he mouths an exaggerated “thank you” to the two of us before escaping up the stairs.

  “Some streamers, a few balloons,” Barrett says. “Nothing we can’t handle, right?” He shoots me the sexiest smile and I clench everything.

  “We can take Dad’s truck,” I suggest as I break Barrett’s gaze. “Plenty of room in the back.” I hesitate before adding “for the decorations.”

  I can’t believe my luck. Me. With Barrett. Alone. I throw my half-eaten piece of bacon into the trash. Suddenly my stomach is too full of butterflies to make room for anything else. What was that pep talk that I gave myself about not going any further than talking?

  “Well, we might as well head out now,” Barrett says, downing his coffee and placing both of our empty plates into the dishwasher. “Do you want to grab a coffee to go?”

  His concern for my caffeine intake is sweet. Either that or I'm totally losing my mind. “Good plan,” I murmur, helping myself to one of my dad's stainless steel mugs.

  I grab the keys to Dad’s truck
off the hook and toss them in Barrett’s direction. “I’ll navigate if you drive,” I offer.

  Somehow, putting me behind the wheel with Barrett riding shotgun sounds like a recipe for disaster. Add the snow and ice on the roads and I’m practically guaranteed to fishtail. How could I keep my eyes on the road when six inches to my right is the star of my teenage sex dreams? Who am I kidding, he was the star of last night’s sex dreams, too.

  Barrett grabs his trim, black coat off the back of a kitchen chair and I can hardly believe how handsome he looks in it. Suddenly, I completely regret packing my classic wool winter coat. It’s two boxes over from my freaking vibrator. My puffy jacket may be practical for Indiana winters, but it’s not doing me any favors in the sex appeal department. I skip the hat to keep from looking like a complete snowman and we’re out the door.

  The first half of the drive to the party store is relatively quiet aside from me providing the directions. But my thoughts run wild and it’s hard to concentrate when I can almost feel his body heat radiating next to me.

  I haven’t run errands in my hometown since I’d moved back from my apartment a few towns over, but I still have my bearings for the place. It seems like Barrett, on the other hand, has completely wiped his memory of rural Indiana and replaced it with Chicago train schedules. At every red light, he rubs his hands together to give himself a little extra heat. Half of me is tempted to reach over and offer to help warm him up, but the smarter half of me forces my hands into the pockets of my coat. Hands to yourself, Ava.

  “Sorry you’re getting roped into all this party planning business,” I finally say, my best attempt at small talk to pull me out of my fantasy.

  “No worries, I’m happy to help.”

  Silence again.

  Why am I totally coming up blank? There are plenty of questions I could ask. How is life in the city? How are things going at work? I’m frozen solid, and not just because of the cold. I’m afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll ask the only real question on my mind. Will you show me what you can do with that glorious cock? Please.

  “How is it taking over your dad’s business?”

  Barrett with the save. I’m so grateful that he’s broken the silence that I hardly mind that it’s a question with an especially tricky answer.

  “It’s good, but not exactly stable,” I admit. “The plant is pretty much breaking even at this point. Nick seems to think I’d be better off just selling the place since it’s not making much money, but I care about all the workers so much. Dad has worked with some of them since I was a kid, and I just don’t know what would happen to all of them if I were to sell. Plus, I like a challenge. It's exciting, you know? And having ownership in something—being the one to make the decisions, to call the shots. I love that aspect of it.”

  I’m rambling. I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk about this. “What do you think?”

  He’s quiet for a second, thinking it over, so I turn my head to look out the window to avoid staring too long. I shouldn’t have said so much. He probably thinks I’m crazy. After what feels like ten minutes but probably wasn’t even one, he answers.

  “You’re levelheaded. I’ve always liked that about you. And I think what you're doing is admirable, for the record.”

  I hang on to the word “always.” Did he even notice me in high school?

  “Thanks,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears bashfully. “Just trying to do the right thing.”

  “Well, I’m a lawyer, not a businessman, so my version of the right thing might be different from yours. But I’m a strong believer in trusting your gut.”

  He takes his eyes off the road for just a moment to lock eyes with me, his mouth curving into a soft smile. He is so handsome, that I can’t hold his gaze for more than a moment. “Tell me about your life in Chicago,” I say, hoping my attempt at small talk isn't as awkward as it sounds.

  “What would you like to know?” His gaze remains on the road, which is good, because every time he looks at me with that compelling blue stare, my belly does this weird flipping thing.

  I drum my fingers on my thighs. “Oh, I don't know. Hotshot lawyer, living it up as a bachelor in the city. Different woman every night of the week. It sounds awfully glamorous.”

  He lets out a short laugh. “I don't know about all that. Mostly it's just a lot of work.”

  “But you enjoy it?”

  At this, he nods once, firm, like he doesn't even have to consider my question. “I enjoy the challenge, yes. But most nights I don't leave the office until nine thirty or ten. Sometimes later. If I’m lucky, I get home and nuke myself a frozen meal, half the time falling asleep on my couch before the damn thing's done cooking.”

  I smile at the thought of this. The ultra-handsome, hardworking, young attorney passed out with his tie loosened around his neck, his dinner uneaten in the kitchen. It paints an interesting picture, and one I wasn't expecting. Most men would have tried to impress me, telling tall tales about their conquests—inside the conference room, as well as the bedroom. But not Barrett. He's one-hundred percent genuine, and I like that more than I should.

  We’re back to the silence with a few more miles to go, so I opt for the radio in lieu of more tough questions. Barrett must have had the same idea because my fingers brush his on the dial.

  “Sorry.” I pull my hand away and turning back to the window to conceal my blushing cheeks. I’d like to chalk the jolt of electricity between our two hands up to static from the radio, but I can’t lie to myself like that.

  I place my fingertips, warm and buzzing, against my bottom lip, wondering if that “trust your gut” advice applies here, too. Because everything inside me is telling me to mount Barrett like a stallion and ride the ever-loving daylights out of him.

  Chapter Five

  Barrett

  I've never been so glad to see a cheesy party store in my life.

  Even with the frost creeping up the windows, the truck is getting a little too hot to handle with Ava sitting right next to me. I do my best to act casual, pulling into a parking spot, and ignoring the growing outline in my loose sweatpants while I kill the engine. When Ava reaches for her door, I take the chance to adjust myself so the bulge is less visible, trusting that my jacket will cover up the rest. The cold air is another welcome distraction, and I snag a cart from outside before pushing it in slowly through the door behind Ava. At this point, I need every opportunity for the cold weather to temper down my physical reaction to this woman.

  Once inside, we fill the cart with clear glass vases, bouquets of flowers, and some paper lanterns. Ava is efficient and focused, and I'm grateful that this errand isn't going to turn into an all-day affair. Not that I'd mind spending extra time with her, but every second we're alone is one more second I’m berating my dick to behave while silently begging for this woman to get on my cock.

  Fucked up, I know.

  After we round up everything we need, I roll the cart up to the register and pull out my wallet. Ava is halfway through grabbing her card out of her purse when she catches me.

  “You are not paying for this,” she protests. “Just because you have a fancy lawyer job in the city doesn't mean you have to cover everything.”

  “That's not why.” I place my card on the counter even as Ava narrows her eyes. “Your dad's always done a lot for me. I just want to give something back.”

  She's quiet for a second, thinking it over. I flash her a smile, hoping that a little extra encouragement will tip the scales in my favor. Her parents really have done a lot for me.

  “Half.” Ava places her card next to mine. “We'll split it.”

  It's not even that much money, but if it makes her feel better, I'm willing to let her win this one. “Alright, deal.”

  After we pay I roll the cart back out, and the chill has really set in. A fresh layer of snow blankets the parking lot, covering the windshield of the truck, and there's ice spreading out from the sidewalk out across the asphalt.

&
nbsp; What a mess.

  “Wait inside,” I say.

  “Why?” She hoists the bag in her arms a bit higher, fighting off the chill.

  “Because I'm going to load everything up and bring the truck back over. It's wet and cold, which is a recipe for slipping on your ass which I’ve seen you do plenty over your lifetime.”

  “And you're immune to slipping on your ass?” Her eyes flicker, meeting mine with a challenge.

  “It's easier for me to carry everything at once. I'll do it in one trip and drive the truck back. Three minutes tops.”

  “Are you serious right now? You want to carry all eight of these bags? You can drop the macho act.”

  She's acting like I'm treating her like a delicate flower, but I'm just trying to be a gentleman. “It's not an act.”

  “So, you act like a nineteen-fifties husband with everyone, then?” She puts down her bag, making a grab for her purse instead. “I'll call Nick and ask about that.”

  The last thing I want is Nick getting any idea that I'm being sweet on his sister. “Ava, come on. It's freezing out. I'm just trying to help.”

  “I'm going to be running a factory full of men,” she counters swiftly, but abandons her search for the phone to look me in the eyes, “I know how to deal with an ego.”

  I raise a brow, daring her to continue about the size of my ego, and anger flares across her face before she storms off the sidewalk toward the truck with three bags of streamers and paper plates hanging on her arms over her marshmallow puff coat. Cursing under my breath, I follow close behind her with the rest of the bags. Ava doesn't make it three stomping steps before her shoe slips on a patch of ice, and she topples backwards.