Page 146 of Lose You Twice

Harlow says it isn’t a group hangout, then invites me, Weston, Asher, and six pizzas, which feels like evidence to the contrary. Grayson opens the door with a resigned expression and a shirt that says PCU Hockey. Harlow is already inside wearing his hoodie and organizing snacks like she lives there.

Weston arrives ten minutes after me with a grocery bag full of candy and a single orange.

Asher stares at it. “Why?”

“Health.”

“That does not balance the candy.”

“It’s symbolic.”

Asher rolls his eyes. “You’re so weird, man.”

Weston beams. “Thank you.”

I end up on the floor between the coffee table and the couch because Weston takes up an entire cushion “for recovery reasons,” and Harlow claims Grayson’s lap. Asher takes the armchair, and Kai sits behind me on the couch.

Not touching.

We haven’t had a chance to talk about how we’re going to act around our friends. Which should probably happen sooner rather than later.

The movie starts, and it’s not long until Kai’s knee brushes my shoulder.

Once.

Then again.

I glance back at him over my shoulder.

His eyes are on the TV, face neutral. I shift slightly, leaning back just enough that my shoulder rests against his leg.

Harlow clears her throat, and when I look her way, she wiggles her eyebrows at me. I send her a scowl, and her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh.

I swat at her foot, and she grins into her popcorn.

After the movie, the group dissolves into the kitchen. Weston tries to make everyone vote on the best fictional getaway vehicle. Asher says a normal car with a full tank of gas. Grayson says anything with four tires and seat belts. Harlow says she wouldn’t be in a situation where it was needed, so she doesn’t give an answer.

“You’re dating a hockey player,” Weston says. “Your standards are already compromised.”

Asher looks at him. “Do you want to walk home?”

Kai stands beside me near the sink, hip against the counter, close enough that his sleeve brushes mine. Everyone is laughing. Talking. Moving around us.

He leans down like he’s reaching for a paper towel.

His mouth grazes my hair.

Again.

I turn to look at him and find myself getting lost in those brown eyes of his.

“Hi,” I breathe, taking in the smell of his soap, the hint of mint instantly letting butterflies loose in my stomach.

He grins. “Hi.”

A throat clears, and looking back across the kitchen, four pairs of eyes are on us. Grayson smirking, Harlow hiding a smile behind her hand, Asher and Weston both doing their best not to grin.

“You know,” Weston starts, “I support whatever unnamed, sexual tension-fueled weather system is occurring in this kitchen.”