Page 9 of Rush

“Thank you,” I say softly, meaning more than just breakfast.

He smiles, this time warmer, with a hint of that teasing glint that always gets to me. “Don’t get used to it. Next time, you’re cooking for me.”

“Oh, really?” I chuckle. “You like danger, huh?”

He steps in close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.

“Only when it’s you.”

And for a terrifying second, I want to believe him. To close that tiny space between us and let him erase everything Alex broke.

Our eyes stay locked on each other, neither of us moving, neither daring to speak.

The air between us feels thick, as if one of us so much asbreathedthe wrong way something would break—or maybe snap into place.

I swallow hard, fingers gripping tightly around the plate, pulse pounding in my ears.

“Oh. My. God.”

The words slice through the room like a whip, shattering whatever invisible line Broderick and I had been toeing.

We both turn our heads toward the sound at the same time—like two guilty teenagers caught doing something we weren’t supposed to.

Which, to be fair...wasn’t entirely wrong.

There, standing frozen in the living room, was Riley—Riley, in last night’s barely-there dress, heels in hand, her ginger hair a tangled, frizzy mess, and lipstick smudged in a way that leftno doubtabout what (or who) she’d been doing.

Her eyes bounce from me to Broderick, widening with each second of silence that passes.

“I—” she stammers, mouth dropping open as she takes in the scene before her:me, in a too-big shirt from last night, no pants, holding a plate of food like evidence; him, roughed up hair, standing waytooclose to me, tension crackling in the air.

“Oh my God,” Riley says again, this time slower, dragging the words. “What did I just walk into?”

Heat flares along my neck, as Broderick steps back.

“Riley, it’s not?—”

“No. Don’t even,” she cuts in, her voice shrill with disbelief but alsoglee. “Are you—areyou two...?”

Broderick lets out a low laugh, running a hand through his hair, clearly amused by her total lack of subtlety.

“Morning,” he says, as if this was all perfectly normal.

“Don’t you‘morning’me!” Riley marches into the kitchen now, her heels dangling from her fingers like a weapon. “I leave you forone night,and now you’re—what? Playing house withBradley?”

“I amnot—” I try again, but my voice comes out weak, even to my own ears.

Broderick leans casually against the counter, watching the exchange with that same infuriating smirk. “You make it sound so scandalous.”

“Because itisscandalous!” Riley shoots back, spinning on me now, her eyes sparkling with unfiltered curiosity. “What happened to all that teasing and eyerolling?”

I open my mouth, then close it, because honestly? I didn’t even know what to say.

Broderick, meanwhile, looks like he’s enjoying every second of my floundering.

“Well,” he says smoothly, reaching over to steal a piece of toast from my plate—my plate, the audacity—”Maybe we got tired of pretending.”

Riley’s jaw drops again. “Oh, my God.”