Page 57 of Love at First Fright

Electricity shot through Brad’s nervous system. The contact burned, even through the jumpsuit fabric. Charlie’s palm pressed warm and solid against muscle and bone, and I wanted to grab his hand, hold it there forever.

“Hey.” That lovely voice of his went gentle. “I completely get it. Expressing your, um… feelings can be tricky. It can take some time. And that’s okay.” He squeezed my arm. “Just no more spiders, yeah? Or calling me Chaz.”

All I could do was nod.

“Shall we go back up now?” Charlie’s hand dropped away, and I tried to mourn its loss a semi-reasonable amount. “I can make you a cup of tea for real this time?”

Molly. She’d been leaving tea all around the house earlier. Couldn’t help herself, poor thing.

“I’d love that.”

We walked up to the kitchen, with its peeling linoleum and damp patches blooming across the ceiling. Charlie set about filling the kettle, muttering under his breath about how the Lancasters thankfully left them tea at least.

He pulled two mugs from the cupboard. Dropped teabags into each.

“Sugar?”

“Two please.”

The words rolled off Brad’s tongue automatically, before I could think. Before I could remember that Brad probably took his tea black, no sugar, or protein shakes only.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Two sugars?”

“Yeah. Treating myself.”

He spooned them in, passing the mug across with a tiny quirk of a smile.

I couldn’t wait for it to cool. I brought it straight to Brad’s lips and sipped.

Heat flooded Brad’s mouth. Sweet, bitter, perfect. The liquid exploded across taste buds, and suddenly I was somewhere else—

A park. Autumn. Leaves crunching underfoot. Someone sat beside me on a bench, their thigh pressed against mine, sharing a flask of tea. Their laugh—

The memory dissolved like sugar in water.

I slurped more tea. No. No good, the memory had gone. Damn. But this tea, though? This tea was fucking delightful.

It wasn’t until I caught Charlie’s alarmed stare that I realised I was moaning. Aloud. Over tea.

“Sorry.” I wiped Brad’s mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s the sugar. I don’t normally let myself have it.”

“Fitness thing?” Charlie leaned against the counter, cradling his own mug. “Do you still play rugby? Even with your dodgy knee?”

Did Brad still play rugby? Probably. He never shut up about it.

“Yeah. Every Saturday.” I flexed Brad’s biceps experimentally. Disturbing, all this muscle. These thick thighs and broad shoulders. Nothing like my own body had been—skinny, scrawny, all sharp angles. “Plus, I work out.”

Charlie’s eyes locked onto Brad’s arms. Couldn’t seem to tear them away.

Another hot lick of jealousy twisted through me. Surely he didn’t actually find this meathead attractive?

Also, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on with Brad’s “dodgy knee,” but they both felt fine to me. Both in good working order. Better than good. Brad was a disgustingly healthy specimen of a human. I bet he’d never enjoyed a cheeky cigarette in his life.

“Do you play any sports?” I asked.

Charlie cackled. Cackled, like I’d told the funniest joke in the world. Then he caught himself, seemed to realise I wanted an actual answer. “Oh, definitely not. I’d rather die than run around throwing balls at people.”

My sort of guy.