Page 54 of The Gaybor War

His breath stutters, but he doesn’t pull away.

For one suspended second, it feels inevitable. His gaze drops to my mouth. Mine flicks to his. The space between us narrows until I can feel the warmth of his breath, smell clean soap and something faintly citrus.

I lean in.

So does he.

Not enough. Just almost.

And as I part my lips in anticipation of his kiss, he sighs regretfully, and my stomach drops.

Carter stops himself with visible effort, forehead dipping until it rests lightly against mine.

"Benji," he murmurs, as if he’s grounding himself. "If we do this… I don’t want it to be another thing I rush and regret."

I close my eyes, swallowing the disappointment—and the respect.

"Okay," I whisper. "Then don’t rush."

He pulls back slowly, hands fisting at his sides as if it costs him something to step away.

"I should go," he says, voice low.

"Yeah," I agree, even though every part of me wants him to stay.

At the door, he pauses, glancing back. "For what it’s worth… I’m glad it was my brother."

My smile is soft. "Me too. I don’t think I’d survive the embarrassment otherwise." Or the raging jealousy.

A corner of his mouth lifts. Then he leaves. And the quiet he leaves behind isn’t cold this time. It’s charged.

I stand there for a long second after the door closes, hand still hovering as if I might open it again by accident. Like my body hasn’t gotten the memo that the moment is over. Of all the ways this could’ve gone, Carter Reed standing in my living room looking like he wanted to kiss me and was terrified of what would happen after was not on my bingo card.

I don’t chase him. I don’t text him. I don’t spiral into a full mental investigation of what that almost meant.

Growth.

I grab my water bottle, take a long pull, then immediately abandon the idea of finishing my workout. There’s no burning this off. Not tonight.

Instead, I lean back against the counter and let the quiet settle. It’s energized. As though something’s been set in motion and is just waiting for the right excuse to tip.

"Okay, we’re doing this the slow way."

Which is terrifying.

Which is new.

Which—if I’m being honest—might be exactly what I want.

Chapter 17

Imake it to my own front walk and stop, irritated on principle.

Across the street. I didn’t even leave the block. I crossed twenty feet of asphalt as if it was some grand pilgrimage and nearly kissed my neighbor in a cropped gym shirt as though I'm auditioning for a streaming original called Oops, I Fell for the Loud One.

Idiot.

Unlocking my door, I step inside, then immediately shut it harder than necessary. The sound echoes through the house.