Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 129

The door swings open like a bomb going off, and a chorus of voices tumble in with the cold.

“Yo, no way—did you two actually bake something?”

Zoe’s voice. Too loud, too chipper.

Tyler’s right behind her. “Whoa, it smells like cinnamon heaven in here.”

I step back instinctively, letting Penny take the attention. She smiles, modest and warm, even as her hands fidget on the edge of the counter.

The rest of the herd piles in—Jonathan, Rebecca, a couple of the soccer guys. Everyone looks flushed and windblown, cheeks pink from the cold, boots leaving snowy prints on the hardwood.

Tyler beelines for the tray. “You guys didn’t poison these, right?”

Penny grins. “Only yours.”

They laugh. And for once, it’s not grating. Not really.

Someone takes a bite and groans like it’s life-changing. “Okay, okay, not bad.”

“Not bad?” Penny puts a hand on her hip.

The guy reaches for a second one. “Alright, alright. You’re hired.”

I move to rinse the bowl in the sink just as she turns to me. “We should change.”

I glance down. Right. Flour still dusts my forearm. Chocolate smudged the hem of my sleeve. She doesn’t look much better—sugar streaked across her cheek, there's a little bit of flour in her hair, and her clothes are covered, too.

“Good call,” I murmur.

Tyler’s already licking icing off his fingers. “Hey, since you’re going back anyway, can you grab my duffel? It’s by the couch—I’ll be staying in the main lodge from now on.”

Of course.

I nod. “Sure.”

He claps my back like I’m a damn bellhop. “You’re the best.”

Penny and I head out, walking the short path back to the cabin. Snow crunches under our boots. The sky’s bleeding orange now, sunset creeping up fast.

“I liked that,” she says softly beside me.

I glance down. “Baking?”

She smiles. “You, baking.”

I shake my head, biting back a smirk. “Don't get used to it.”

“Sure.”

We reach the cabin, and inside it’s dim and quiet again. I grab Tyler’s duffel while she gathers her own stuff to change. Her fingers brush flour off the front of her sweater absently. Her skin still smells like sugar and warm vanilla.

“Shower first?” I ask.

“You go ahead,” she says, flopping down on the edge of her bed.

I head into the bathroom. Strip. The second the hot water hits my shoulders, I brace both palms against the wall and lower my head. Breathe.

The water’s almost too hot—how I like it. Let it burn the tension out of my spine. My scars ache a little under it. Or maybe it’s in my head. I’m never sure anymore.

I wash fast.

The fog on the mirror blurs everything, but I wipe it down with the side of my forearm. My reflection stares back.

Wet hair, heavy jaw, dark eyes.

And the mess of my torso—deep ridges along my ribs. The thick one on my shoulder. The one that cuts across my hip like a smile carved wrong. Pale lines. Twisted reminders.

I used to be proud of what I did. Of surviving. Now I just feel… marked. Brutalized. Not like a hero. Like a fucking monster that made it out of something no one should’ve survived.

Then I reach for the towel, dry off, and—

Fuck.

I forgot to bring a shirt.

Of course.

I grit my teeth and crack the door. “Penny?”

Her voice drifts from the bed. “Yeah?”

“Close your eyes.”

There’s a pause. “Why?”

“Just… do it.”

Another pause. “Are you coming out naked?”

“No. Just—please.”

“Fine, fine.” Her voice is laced with amusement. “Eyes are closed. My innocence is intact.”

I step out fast, towel low on my hips, a fresh shirt clenched in one hand.

She laughs. “You know, for a guy who clearly works out, this much modesty is kind of—”

“Penny.”

She falls silent. I pull the shirt on fast, the fabric dragging over the raised skin like static. Only when it’s on do I say, “Alright. You can look.”

Her eyes snap open. “You know you’re fit, right? I’m sure girls tell you all the time. But to assume seeing you shirtless would actually *kill* me… that’s bold, Hayes.”

I snort, then crouch in front of her slowly — not like I’m mocking, but like I’m stalking. One knee bends, my elbows resting lazy on it, hands loose, relaxed. But every muscle in my body is tight, coiled, waiting for the slightest sign I’ve crossed a line I shouldn’t.

She’s on the edge of the bed. Fuzzy socks, sweater sliding slightly off one shoulder, knees brushing mine as they swing just a little. Innocent. Unaware. Killing me.

“You think you’re funny, huh, princess?” My voice is low, rough around the edges.

Her breath catches. Just the smallest sound. But I hear it like a shot.

“A little bit,” she whispers.

My gaze drops to her lips, just for a second. Then I lean in — slow enough to watch her pupils flare. Close enough to feel the heat off her skin. One more inch and I could taste the ghost of cookie dough and cinnamon on her mouth.

“Dangerous game,” I murmur.

She blinks up at me. “Why?”

I don’t answer. I just stare — unblinking, unreadable, letting the question hang in the space between us like a lit match.

Her thighs tense. Her fingers twist in the hem of her sweater. She’s blushing so hard I could drown in it.

And still… she doesn’t move away.

Her knee knocks against mine again. I feel it like a jolt to the gut.

I want to drag the pad of my thumb along her jaw. Want to tilt her face up and taste the breath from her lips. But I don't. I can't. Not yet.

So I smile instead — slow and sharp and full of all the things I’m not saying.

Then I rise, towering over her again, and step back.

“Your turn for the shower,” I say, voice calm but loaded.

She exhales like she’d been holding her breath. “Right. Yes. Shower. That thing people do.”

She disappears into the bathroom, flustered and muttering something about soap and sanity.

I sit back down on the bed, jaw tight, pulse too fast.

I didn’t survive what I did to get taken out by a girl in a flour-dusted hoodie and fuzzy socks.

But hell if she isn’t the most dangerous thing I’ve ever faced.