Page 114 of The Route to You

Kyle stepped forward without thinking, catching her by the elbow before she could face-plant.

“Easy.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, already leaning into him.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

She blinked up at him, closer now, her expression softening. Made his chest tighten. “You’re very . . . vertical.”

He chuckled. “That’s usually how standing works, yeah.”

“No, I mean—” She gestured at him. “You’re like . . . annoyingly stable. It’s off-putting.”

“I’ll try to be more chaotic for you next time.” He took her by the arm, leading her toward her bedroom. As he opened the door, the soft sound of a dog snoring greeted him—Sadie, apparently, because Charlie had already found his way to Kyle’s side and pressed her wet nose against his hand.

“No thanks, I’m good. Chaos is what led me to gin tonight.” Sloan shook her head, then pressed it against his bicep. And, apparently, because her filter wasn’t working so well, she went on. “So, are you ever going to tell me who Anna is or do I have to keep guessing?”

“Anna is Jeremy’s friend,” Kyle said, helping her onto her mattress. Charlie hopped up immediately, and Kyle snapped his fingers, directing her toward the foot of the bed as Sloan slid her legs under her sheets.

“She’s not just Jeremy’s friend, though.” Sloan turned onto her side, tucking her arm under her head. “Clearly, she’s into you. And she said you’ve kissed.”

“We kissed. I was drunk. It didn’t mean anything. It was right after Granny died, and I wasn’t handling it so well.” He stared down at her, wanting to change the subject. “Do you need me to get you a different shirt or something? One that’s not soaked?”

“Can I borrow one of yours?” she asked impishly.

Of course. He should have expected that. “Yeah, one sec.” He crossed the room and headed for his own room. Some things don’t change, I guess. She’d always stolen his favorite shirts and sweatshirts when they were younger.

After giving it to her, he left again, then went to the kitchen to refill the glass of water she’d dropped. When he returned, she’d changed into his shirt, her wet one dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

“Need anything else?”

She rubbed her forehead gingerly, looking away. “No, I’m good. Thanks for helping me out.”

“No, it’s fine. Just, uh, I’ll be across the hall if you need anything.” He pointed at the door.

As he turned to go, she spoke again, “Will you stay with me?”

He paused mid-step.

Stay? Here?

No, no. Not a good idea. Terrible one.

“Of course,” he said instead.

He went across the hall, grabbed his pillow, then went back to her bed. As he climbed in on the other side of her, his brain practically entered into self-destruct mode while he settled his head against the pillow, and she scooted closer to him. He stretched an arm out, curling it around her shoulder as she laid her cheek into his chest.

As though it was the most natural thing in the world for two so-called friends to just sleep in bed like this.

His skin was on fire now, body fully cataloging every point of contact. Her thigh pressed against his, and her knee draped across his leg. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers curled in a fully relaxed position, breasts—well, goddammit, he better not think about her breasts because his cock might explode.

“So, you made out with Anna,” Sloan said mildly, jumping right back into that topic. Her words were slightly slurred—either from drinking or tiredness.

“Making out is something you do when you’re a teenager. It was a drunken, sloppy kiss. Nothing more.”

“It seems like she’d like it to be more.”

“Maybe.” Probably not after tonight.