Page 28 of My Brother’s Best Friend

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if you did, you’d—”

“Do something like this?”

Before he could answer, before he could ask what I meant, and before I could lose my nerve, I brought one hand to the side of his face, the other to the collar of his shirt, and kissed him.

Cam gasped, a tiny sound almost swallowed by the breeze. My tongue darted out, licking the opening between his lips. I expected him to freeze. To pull away. Instead, his mouth parted, and he tilted his chin down. My tongue swept inside, meeting his own.

I pushed forward, my grip on his shirt tightening. His cheek was rough with blond stubble, invisible to the eye, but lighting up my fingertips. And then he moaned, soft and sweet, and heat shot straight to my cock.

I wanted him.

His hands alighted on the small of my back, and I shivered. I tugged his shirt, then slid my hand down his chest. I could feel his heart beating beneath the cotton fabric, feel his nipple, hard and alert. He bit at my lip, and my hand dropped lower still, to his stomach, to his thigh, and then in towards—

Cam pulled back abruptly, breaking free of the kiss and wrenching his body away from mine.

“What—what the—what was that?” he spluttered, looking horrified.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry, Cam.”

“You can’t just—I mean, I can’t—I’m not—”

“Please,” I said, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just—”

“You can’t just do that,” he said, knocking his beer glass over as he stood up. “You can’t just go around kissing people.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “God, Cam, I really am. Please don’t—”

“I can’t do this,” he said, taking one step back from the table, then another. “I just…can’t.”

“Don’t leave,” I finished, but it was too late. He was already gone.

8

CAM

By the time Saturday morning rolled around, I’d spent twelve hours trying to make sense of what had happened at The Port Hole.

Jordan had kissed me.

He’d kissed me.

And I’d kissed him back.

I couldn’t figure out what it meant, or if it meant anything. If it had just been a joke to him, or—or—what? It had to be a joke. There was no other explanation.

The question was, did Jordan realize it wasn’t a joke to me?

I hadn’t heard from him since I’d left the bar, and the way I saw it, there were two options for what his silence meant. Either Jordan didn’t realize just how much I’d liked that kiss—he hadn’t felt how hard I’d been, as his hand dipped lower and lower—or he did realize, and he was trying to be polite.

If he didn’t realize how into it I’d been, then he’d have no reason to reach out to me. And if he did realize—well, then he’d probably rather die than have to talk to me again.

He’d been teasing me, nothing more. Having a little fun at my expense, saying our evening was like a date. He hadn’t meant anything by it.

And if he’d realized his mistake? Realized that our evening meant way, way too much to me? He was probably praying he could get through the rest of his stay on Summersea without seeing me.

Now I just needed to pray he didn’t tell Levi what had happened.