Kit, on the other hand? I could tell he didn’t like Racer giving me attention, but he didn’t snap. He didn’t get mad at Racer. He didn’t get angry with me, either.
He didn’t do anything.
I used to think jealousy was flattering. I’d tell myself that Angelo got mad when other men looked at me because he loved me. I’d tell myself—or maybe he would tell me—that the best way Angelo could show his love was by being possessive over me in public.
Never mind the fact that he hated being out in public with me at all, though. Never mind that he’d be all over me when guys were around, but wouldn’t touch me if there was an attractive woman in the room.
When I see Kit’s non-reaction, I realize I was wrong. Angelo’s fits of jealousy weren’t a show of love. They were a show of ownership. It feels good to have a guy be okay with me getting male attention from somewhere else. It’s nice to see Kit noticed and wasn’t too happy about it, but he didn’t fly off the handle.
I shake my head, taking a deep breath to clear my thoughts away. I shouldn’t be comparing Angelo to Kit for a thousand and one reasons, the most important of which is that Kit and I aren’t dating.
Of course Kit isn’t jealous, because we’re not together. He can brush it off, because we haven’t done anything more than hug for a few seconds longer than strictly appropriate.
I mean, sure, I orgasmed while thinking of his head between my thighs. That doesn’t mean I’ve picked out baby names, or anything.
Still, it’s nice to know Kit can control his emotions. He’s secure enough to take me out to meet his friends, and he doesn’t need to act like an asshole to show me he’s interested in me. He just touched my knee, where no one else could see, and that was enough to let me know what he was feeling.
My heart thumps as my mind spins.
The past ten years of my life have been one big chaotic mess, filled with fear and insecurity. Simple kindness has me reeling.
When we leave the bar, I wrap my jacket around my body as Kit puts his hand on my lower back. I lean into him, inhaling the scent of musk and the smell of beer on his breath. We walk home in comfortable silence.
I surprise myself by thinking about his place as home. We’ve been there for all of twenty-four hours, and I’m already at ease there. I haven’t even unpacked everything, and I already feel like the guest bedroom is my own. I’ve walked into a friend group who didn’t blink at my arrival, and Kit has made the transition as easy as possible.
When we get to Kit’s house, I strip off my jacket and hang it up beside Kit’s. I kick my shoes off and pad to the kitchen, where Kit’s getting himself a glass of water. He hands it to me after taking a sip, leaning against the counter behind him.
I wrap my fingers around the cool glass, watching how his muscles strain against his shirt. How his pants hang low on his slim hips, revealing the waistband of his underwear. My breath catches as I crawl my gaze up to his face, lingering on his full lips.
“Kit,” I whisper.
“Yeah?” His eyes hang heavy. Maybe it’s the few drinks fuzzing our brains. The alcohol is singing in our bloodstreams, making us forget all the inhibitions that stopped us from acting on this attraction before.
But we’re alone now. I could erase the distance between us and press my lips to his. I’m sure he wouldn’t say no.
The tension between us is so thick it’s hard to breathe. Kit holds my gaze, sliding his tongue out to lick his lips. My ovaries scream in delight.
“Serena,” he whispers, saying my name like a prayer. His head drops as his hand moves to his chest. Kit’s palm massages his sternum as he frowns, finally dragging his eyes back up to mine.
“Yeah?” My voice is barely a whisper.
Silence hangs between us. Three feet of space separate us.
There’s an invisible wall, and we’re each holding a sledgehammer. I wind back, ready to smash the barrier to pieces.
But Kit lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “I should go to bed.”
I nod, still gripping the glass of water. “Okay.” The sledgehammer clatters to the ground.
He pads out of the kitchen, pausing at the entrance. His head turns as he hesitates, as if some unknown force is stopping him from leaving.
But after a moment, he lets out another sigh and leaves the kitchen. I stay rooted to the floor until I hear his bedroom door close, then I drop my chin to my chest and let disappointment crash into me.
13
Kit
I might just be trying to avoid Serena, but I slip out of the house before she wakes up. Jumping in my car, I find myself heading for the airfield where I used to work. My fingers drum on the steering wheel as my chest grows tighter, and I try to keep my breaths deep and steady.
I didn’t just use to work here. I existed here. Woodvale Skydive was my whole life. It was my business. My baby. My happiness. It was the place where Finn and I picked our friendship up after years apart and built our dream together.
When I get to the airfield, my chest caves in. Woodvale Skydive is emblazoned on the hangar, with a brand-new logo across the front.
Finn and I had talked about updating the company’s branding. We were going to discuss it together. I stare at the new sign, knowing I have no right to be upset about it, but feeling hurt anyway.
I don’t own any part of this business anymore. I shouldn’t be mad that he followed through with our plans. Still, when I look at the sign, it’s just another reminder that the world keeps turning and I keep standing still.
Gathering my courage and stuffing my emotion deep down, I exit the car and start walking toward the hangar. The door’s unlocked, and I slip through soundlessly. Finn is in the corner, checking the jump gear. He stands up, satisfied, grabs big bags of laundry, and starts pulling out clean jumpsuits, organizing them by size.
When I take a couple of steps closer, he looks up. His eyebrows arch. “Kit.”
“Hey, Finn.”
Dropping the laundry bag, Finn takes a step toward me and then stops. He clears his throat. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Chaotic,” I answer with a small grin. Finn tilts his head, and I continue. “Robbie’s Italian. He didn’t warn me there were dozens of them.”
Finn laughs, nodding. “Good food, though?”
“Missed Lydia’s pumpkin pie, if I’m honest.”
“So did I,” Finn shoots back. “She wouldn’t let us touch the damn thing and I’ve been hearing stories about her pie for weeks.”
I laugh, but the sound is drenched in bitterness. He’s probably heard stories about Lydia’s pie from Esme. Because they went behind my back and started dating. Because they broke my trust and refuse to feel sorry about it.
Pushing the bitterness away, I jerk my head toward the laundry bag. “You need help?”
Finn’s lips tug at the corners, and he nods without saying anything. The two of us organize the jumpsuits in silence.
Thoughts swirl in my mind as we stand side by side. My heart tugs.
I miss this.
I miss the smell of the hangar. The feeling of thick canvas jumpsuits between my fingers. I miss my plane. I miss the energy of the skydiving business and the way it felt to give people an unforgettable experience.
Most of all, though, I miss Finn. He was my best friend growing up, and when I came back to Woodvale a few years ago, we picked up right where we left off. Finn was like a brother to me. We worked together, drank together, started a business together—everything.
Then, he had to go and fall in love with my little sister, and it felt like a stab in the back.
Finn puts the last jumpsuit away and turns to me, smiling. “You sure you don’t want to take the plane up? Benji would appreciate a day off.”
I shake my head. “I wouldn’t want to take his shift. He probably wants the money.”
Finn laughs. “Benji works too much anyway. Harold’s got him working at the garage every day he’s not here, and he keeps talking about taking over f
rom the old man. I think he prefers working as a mechanic than being a pilot, to be honest. Most weeks, he’s working seven days. It’s only one flight. Special winter jump for a guy who wants to propose to his girlfriend.” Finn arches an eyebrow. “Come on, Sweeney. One flight.”
My heart squeezes at the sound of my last name. Finn’s one of the only people who calls me that, and it feels natural to hear it. Like old times. Through the open hangar door, I look at the bright red plane outside. My chest constricts as I gulp, stealing a glance at Finn.
He’s grinning at me, trouble written all over his face. That’s the exact grin that got me detention for starting a campfire in the school yard when we were nine. It’s the grin that made me flash my ass to passing cars from the roof of his house. It’s the grin that makes me feel like I’m home anytime I see it.
I let my lips curl upward and nod. “All right then. Let’s do it.”
Finn laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. Ever since Esme came to town, things have been different.
But right now?
It feels like old times again. My heart eases, and I feel like myself for the first time in months.
As I walk over to the plane, my heart grows. We bought this plane together, scrimping and saving every penny we had. I took care of this machine like it was my child, and as stupid as it sounds, I’ve missed the old bird. I miss being in the cockpit and feeling it purr underneath me.
As I run my fingers over the plane’s body, feeling the bumps of rivets under my fingers, I finally let a full smile stretch over my lips. I can’t wait to take this baby up into the air.
But as I glance back toward the hangar and see the customers arrive, my thoughts drift to Serena. What would her face look like after a skydive? I’d like to see her, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed, high on adrenaline. I’d like to make her laugh…and make her live.
I see the pain in her eyes and the fear that kept her small. I see her poking her head out of her shell more and more with every hour that passes.
I’d love to share this with her, too.
But my thoughts turn hotter, and I think about wrapping my fingers around her dark hair. I think about those lush lips trailing over my skin. Her hands splayed over my chest.
I need to stay away.
She can book a skydive on her own time—preferably when I’m on a commercial flight far, far away from here.
Flying my old plane feels like coming home. When we’re in the air, my heart feels light and I can’t keep the smile off my face. The soon-to-be-engaged customers—diehard skydivers who don’t need Finn to jump tandem with them—jump out of the plane and I do an extra loop, enjoying the tapestry of trees and pastures below me.
No matter how much I try to convince myself that I enjoy the commercial flights, this is what I love. This is what makes me feel alive.
When I land the plane and walk back to the hangar, Finn claps me on the back and laughs.
“He’s back, baby!”
I grin, shaking my head. “Not so fast. I’ve still got a real job to go back to.”
“Quit.” Finn smiles wider as if he’s joking, but there’s a seriousness in his eyes.
I chuckle, shaking my head. Still, when I glance at the plane and back at Finn, it feels like old times. Even when Esme arrives in the company van to take the jumpers back to town, it feels natural. She walks over to Finn and gives him a kiss, then glances in my direction.
“You back?” Her lips curl hopefully.
I shake my head. “Nah. Just a bit of nostalgia.”
Esme arches an eyebrow, tugging her black beanie farther down her head. “We’ll see.” She flips her hood up and pulls gloves on her hands, walking toward the customers. “Let’s go,” she calls out. “Back to the heat of the van. It’s freezing in here.”
The happy, newly-engaged customers shuffle away, and Finn and I are left alone. He extends his hand toward me, his face serious.
I reach out and shake his hand as my chest constricts. He hangs onto my hand for a second too long, staring into my eyes.
“I love her, Kit.”
A jagged rock lodges itself in my throat, slicing my flesh raw. I can taste blood sticking to the back of my tongue, bitter, salty iron. I’m sick of being mad. Sick of feeling like I’ve lost my sister, my friend, my business. Sick of being angry at everyone and stewing in my own feelings of betrayal.
I let out a sigh and dip my chin down. “I know.”
“I’m sorry for not telling you,” he pleads, his brows drawing together. “I hate this, Kit. You’re my best friend. Forgive me.”
Pain jabs through my chest as I pull my hand away. I drag it through my hair, staring at the concrete floor. When I lift my eyes back up to Finn’s, my voice is small.
“I’m trying,” I say.
Finn lets out a sigh, pinching his lips together. He nods. “Okay.” With a forced smile, he claps his hand on my back. “Let’s head back to town.”
14
Serena
The front door opens as I give my pasta sauce one last taste. It’s not as good as Nonna’s, but it’s close. I’ve spent enough hours in her kitchen to learn a few tricks, and I hope Kit will appreciate them.
When he pokes his head in the kitchen, inhaling as he groans, my heart does a flip.
It almost feels real. Like we’re playing house. And…I like it?
“I made dinner,” I say. “As a thank you for letting me stay here.”
“I won’t say no,” Kit says. His eyelids hang low as he sweeps his gaze over my body. Even with the heat of the stove behind me, goosebumps erupt over my skin.
How does he manage to do that to me with just one look?
Kit’s eyes sweep over to the kitchen table, where I’ve laid out a tablecloth and two place settings. His eyebrows arch.
“Where’d you get all that? The tablecloth and stuff.”
I bite my lip. “I may have rummaged through your cupboards.”
Kit laughs. “I didn’t even know I had it. Looks nice.” His eyes shine when he meets my gaze, and my whole body burns.
I love the way he looks at me. I love the kindness in his eyes, backed by a burning fire. He makes me feel safe and alive and hot.
I know, I know.
I’m trying to get over Angelo. I should be finding myself. I should be learning how to be independent. I’m not trying to fall into the arms of the first man who treats me decently.
But if the perfect man just happens to drop at my feet and offer me a place to live, what am I supposed to do? Deny it?
I grab a bottle of wine I bought earlier and pour out two glasses, handing one of them to Kit. When he takes it from me, his fingers brush over mine and electricity jumps from the touch. My cheeks burn, and it’s hard for me to think.
I clear my throat. “Hope you like pasta.”
“Love it.” He smiles. He jerks his head toward the living room. “Is that your yoga mat? And what’s that smell in there?”
I nod. “It’s incense. There wasn’t enough room for me to practice in my bedroom. Hope you don’t mind. I can stop burning the incense if it bothers you.”
Kit’s eyes darken as he holds my gaze. He clears his throat, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Practice anytime.”
Is he picturing me doing yoga in here? My heart does a heavy kind of thump, and I know I’m in trouble.
This isn’t I want to rip your clothes off anymore. What I’m feeling is something more. I don’t just want to climb him like a tree and ride him until morning, I want to wake up in his arms. I want to cuddle and feel the safety and warmth of his embrace. I want to be with him.
Sucking down some wine, I turn back to the stove and give the pasta one last toss. When I put Kit’s plate down on the table, he lets out a low moan and my panties go sploosh.
I should just get hypocrite tattooed across my forehead, because I love playing house with Kit right now. The one thing I hated doing with Angelo—cooking and cleaning and being a perfect little housewife for him
—feels good to do with Kit.
“Thank you,” he says, glancing up at me. His lips tug and he shakes his head. “This is incredible.”
My chest constricts, and I realize that’s the difference. That simple thank you. Angelo never thanked me for anything. He’d come home from work and complain if dinner wasn’t ready. He never once told me he appreciated what I did. He just expected it to be done.
I smile, taking a seat across from Kit and pointing to the plate. “Dig in.”
“I could get used to this.” Kit spins some pasta around his fork.
“Don’t get too comfortable.” I laugh. When his eyes meet mine, I can tell he knows the truth, though. I don’t mind making food for him. I don’t mind doing the typically female things, because I can tell he appreciates them.
As we eat, Kit tells me about his day at the airfield. When he talks about taking the plane up, his eyes shine, and I can tell he misses it more than he lets on.
“Why don’t you work at the skydiving center again?” I ask, taking a sip of wine.
Kit’s lips pinch together as he shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Your sister dating your former business partner? Is that what’s stopping you?”
Kit munches on his food before answering. He puts his fork down, letting his hand circle around the base of his wine glass. I watch the movement, entranced by the way his strong hands move so delicately. Long fingers, neat, short fingernails. Strong, broad palms with tendons and bones that flex when he moves his fingers. I never knew hands could be so captivating. When heat starts to spiral down my core, I flick my eyes back up to his.
“How do you think Robbie would feel if I hooked up with you behind his back?” Kit’s eyes are serious, and I’m not sure if that’s a hypothetical question or not.
I take a sip of wine, avoiding Kit’s eye. I shrug. “I guess it would depend how you treated me and how I felt about you.”
Kit stares at me, tilting his head. “So you think it’s okay for Finn to date Esme without asking me first?”
Don't Need You: A Brother's Best Friend Romance (We Shouldn't Book 3) Page 9