Page 32 of Next Level Up
She jolts back and I flinch so hard I almost knock over my drink.
Tate freezes in the doorway, bag of food in one hand, phone in the other, brows raised. “Jumpy fucks, should I knock next time?”
I bury my face in my hands, trying not to scream. Part of me wants to throw something and part of me wants to laugh. Most of me wants to rewind five minutes and kiss her again without an audience.
Haven snorts beside me, clearly trying not to laugh, her hand still tangled loosely with mine.
Tate walks over to the coffee table completely unbothered, and sets the bag of food down with a dramatic flourish. “I walk back, I get grief. Typical.”
I lift my head and shoot him a glare. “You have the worst timing.”
“Or the best,” he counters. “Depends on what you were about to do.”
She grabs a napkin and tosses it at him. “You’re the worst.”
He catches it mid-air and winks at her. “Can’t say Carter didn’t warn you.”
She blushes, but doesn’t pull her hand from mine. Tate sees it, for just a second I see something in his expression shift then it’s gone. He drops into the chair across from us, kicks his feet up on the coffee table, and starts unwrapping his burrito.
After we finish the basket of fries, Haven excuses herself to wash her hands. I look across at Tate who’s tapping through his phone like he didn’t just derail a perfect moment.
“Did you do that shit on purpose?” I ask quietly.
“What?”
“Walk in like that.”
He shrugs. “Not my fault your timing fucking sucks ass.”
I shake my head. I can’t help it, there’s no animosity behind it. The truth is, we’re all fumbling. Trying to figure out where we fit. Even if he won’t say it out loud, I can see it in his eyes. He doesn’t want to mess this up either, like he vowed.
When Haven comes back, she slides onto the couch beside me, close again. I glance at her, her eyes meeting mine. We don’t say a word, but it’s clear we’re both thinking the same thing, this isn’t going to be easy.
11
Haven
Istretch out in bed as the sheets twist around my legs, the faint smell of Carter clinging to my pillow. He must’ve slipped out early, hopefully to start coffee.
Last night’s kiss still lingers on my lips. So does the look on his face when he said he didn’t want to ruin this. After dinner Tate said he was tired and practically forced us out of my living room. Carter and I ended up watching YouTube videos until we fell asleep.
I press my palms to my eyes, I’m exhausted. I climb out of bed, pull on one of Carter’s hoodies, and pad down the hall. I hear low voices, both of them. Kitchen clatter, the sound of Tate laughing under his breath.
The two of them together in the same room always feels like a coin spinning in the air. It could land on heads, or it could land on fire.
I take a second before entering the kitchen. Just breathe I remind myself. They’re sitting at the counter, Carter is fully focused on one of my puzzles he dumped out onto the table, of all things. They both look at me instantly.
Carter softens first, like he always does. “Morning, sunshine.”
Tate’s eyes stay on me longer. I grab a cup of coffee and lean against the counter, trying to pretend like my entire world isn’t currently twitching under the surface of normal.
They’re both in my space now and this is so much different than their one night spent a couple of weeks ago. Our relationship is now running into real life, real situations. They’ve brought their rivalry, their chaos, their gentleness, their fire and I’m the one trying to hold it all together. There’s the tournament, the bracket and the name I’ve been avoiding since the day it dropped.
His name now haunts the third slot under mine. I stir cream into my coffee like it might dissolve the thought of him. The first sip almost holds to that promise before Carter breaks the silence.
“Everything okay?”
I glance up. Tate is watching me too. Less gentle, more alert. I nod quickly. “Yeah. Just… tournament stuff.”
