Oh God. What was happening?
This was . . . this was . . .
“Come on, Zach. Let’s get you home.”
“Home?” he squeaked.
Brandy paused, like he was trying to figure out what had become of Zachary Dashwood. Zach was silently doing the same.
“I mean,” he let out another laugh and started walking, “home, yes. I’m cold. I need to strip and” —what choice of words!— “get . . . warm.”
“I’ll help.”
Zach fell over, a sprawling mess in wet sand. He scrambled up. More tinny laughter as he dusted his hands off.
How the fuck had he turned into Bambi?
Brandy raised a brow. “I’ll make chicken soup.”
He spent the car ride shifting in his seat, trying to summon the usual carefree grace back to his limbs while Brandy’s gentle voice blurred around him. It. Wasn’t. Happening.
He jumped out of the car and raced up the hill. Then shrank back through the rain to the bach. Why did he leave without the other key?
Brandy hauled him over the threshold. “Noah won’t be back yet, I told you.”
“Oh. Right. I . . . Too many . . . thoughts.”
Brandy began unzipping the jacket, fingers bumping under Zach’s chin and rolling over his chest, stomach, crotch.
Zach gasped and grabbed the zipper off him. “I got it.” He shrugged out of the jacket, and Brandy hung it on a hook.
He was saturated with rain, his white shirt translucent, showing a practical white muscle shirt underneath. He plucked at buttons and peeled muscled arms free of the sleeves. The shirt hit the floor in a puddle and Brandy started shimmying out of his slacks.
Tree trunks and the underwear Zach had once borrowed emerged.
Zach’s throat was clucking like he hadn’t seen water all week.
“Zach? You need to get out of these wet clothes—”
Blood roared to his head and—
He hoofed past Brandy and barricaded himself in the bathroom, collapsing onto the rim of the bath. He palmed his forehead. What was happening?
He’d seen Brandy naked before. He’d been naked around Brandy before.
This shock and shyness didn’t make any sense.
Also, totally inappropriate! Brandy was his friend. They’d talked about this once. Brandy wasn’t into him. So Zach really, really needed to snap out of this.
A knock. “You alright? I’ve left you something to change into out here. Feel free to take a shower.”
Like he’d ever be able to do that in Brandy’s house again. God, all his soaps were in there, Zach would melt like . . . like the witch in Oz.
How was he supposed to go out and act normal?
He stripped and opened the door and— “The hell? Brandy, I am NOT wearing this!”
Not fluttery butterflies, not anything, would get him into that.
Brandy’s laughter sounded far too gleeful down the hall. “It’s that or . . . nude.”
Zach climbed hurriedly into the Tin Man onesie.
He charged out to the kitchen, flinging out his arms in frustration. “Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
True in, like, all the important senses.
Brandy looked up over the onions he was chopping at the kitchen island. He’d changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and he was . . . laughing.
Zach doubled down on a glare. This energy was easier to manage. Much better than whatever had taken him hostage before. “Why couldn’t you have lent me your clothes?”
“My pants would fall off you.”
“Then I could’ve swum in your pullover.”
“I’ve seen what you do to pullovers, tucking them over your knees, stretching them into weird shapes.”
“I never—”
“You did it to my jacket in the car just now.”
“So you put me in the Tin Man?”
Brandy continued chopping and murmured, “And his wish came true.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Turn on some music. Or your guitar is on the sofa. Noah will be here in a few minutes. He went to check the local, in case you missed me telling you that, too.”
“I totally heard that.” He totally hadn’t.
Brandy smiled, like he knew the truth.
But not that truth, right? Like, he wasn’t giving off extra-spicy I have feelings for you pheromones or anything?
He lifted his guitar into his lap and played. He was humming the words, but his focus was on Brandy.
Who was preparing lunch.
Brandy was always looking out for him. Feeding him, driving him around, questioning his taste in music, relenting because Zach was right of course. Hell, the bach was supposed to be a weekend retreat, and he’d made it his home. Had he stayed at his place in town even once? No. Because even when he’d considered it, he’d sensed Zach needed him and driven the winding bays to get back.
He was . . . he was generous, caring, funny, hard-working, protective . . .
Zach stopped strumming and burrowed into the onesie.
He yearned to ask all the questions, find out all the unknowns he could. He wanted to know everything, but his voice cracked on the first syllable. He shut his mouth and dropped his head back uselessly.
