Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 136

The day drifts by in a cozy, comfortable haze. Outside, the snow falls in slow, lazy spirals, blanketing the trees and crunching softly under the boots of those brave enough to venture out. A few people threw together a half-hearted snowball fight in the afternoon, their laughter echoing through the forest, but most of us stayed inside, warm and tucked into couches, armchairs, and thick blankets.

Some of the guys set up a video game tournament in the corner, the low hum of digital gunfire and the sharp clack of controllers filling the air. Every so often, one of them would call out, “Yo, Asher, is this what it’s really like?!”

I’d watch his jaw tighten, his fingers curl slightly against his thigh, but every time I leaned in to ask if he wanted me to tell them to stop, he just gave me a small shake of his head. Once, when I put my hand on his arm, his thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and grounding, his dark eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

It didn’t sound like a lie.

Someone set up a Bluetooth speaker near the fireplace, so the living room was a gentle mix of soft indie rock, the crackle of the fire, and the occasional clink of bottles. Zoe and Rebecca spent most of the afternoon playing a card game at the kitchen counter, their quiet snickers occasionally interrupted by the snap of a card being dramatically slapped down. Max tried to teach a few of the guys a card trick that he clearly wasn’t very good at, and the rest of the group was scattered around, some reading, some scrolling on their phones, some just dozing off in the warmth of the lodge.

I ended up half-curled against Asher’s side on the couch, Tyler on my other side, his head occasionally lolling against my shoulder as he drifted in and out of a hungover nap. Asher’s arm was draped along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing my shoulder every now and then, a subtle, grounding pressure that made my pulse skip every time it happened.

Eventually, dinner rolled around. Someone took charge of the kitchen, boiling massive pots of pasta and setting out an assortment of sauces, cheeses, and toppings like it was some kind of Italian buffet. I filled my bowl with penne and drenched it in a rich, garlicky tomato sauce, adding a sprinkle of parmesan and a handful of black olives. Asher’s plate was a mountain of plain spaghetti and meatballs, the most no-nonsense, straightforward meal I could imagine.

We ate at the long, sprawling dining table, elbows bumping, forks clinking, the chatter growing louder as people shook off their afternoon grogginess and the effects of their earlier hangovers. Tyler sat across from me, his eyes still a little bloodshot, but he managed to muster a grin when someone clinked their glass to get everyone’s attention.

Jenny, standing on one of the dining chairs like an overexcited camp counselor, clapped her hands together. “Alright, alright, everyone! We have a surprise for you all.”

People quieted down, a few heads turning, curious.

“We’ve organized a game for the third night,” she announced, her grin wide. “A murder mystery game.”

A few people whooped, some clapped, and Max let out a loud, “Hell yeah!” from the other end of the table.

Jenny beamed. “So, here’s the deal. We’ll assign characters to everyone, complete with alibis, motives, and secrets. There’s been a murder in this very lodge, and it’s up to you guys to figure out whodunit.”

“Who’s the victim?” someone asked, shoveling another forkful of pasta into their mouth.

“Well,” Jenny said, smirking, “we were going to kill Tyler, because, you know, he’s too loud—”

A round of laughter erupted.

“Hey!” Tyler protested, pointing a fork at her.

“—but then we realized that Asher would just figure it out in like, three seconds, and ruin the game for the rest of us,” she continued. “So, we’ve decided to murder him instead.”

There were more laughs, some people clinking their glasses together, and I felt Asher’s arm tense slightly beside me, the ghost of a smirk crossing his lips.

I leaned in, close enough that my breath probably tickled his ear. “Imagine surviving wars just to get fake-murdered by drunk college students,” I whispered.

He let out a low, quiet chuckle, and his hand drifted up to tighten just slightly on my thigh, a brief squeeze that sent a shiver up my spine.

“Alright, alright,” Jenny continued, still standing on her chair. “Here’s the setup: Asher Hayes, the mysterious, brooding Navy guy, has been found dead in the library. We’re not saying he had secrets, but like, maybe he had secrets.”

That earned a few more laughs, and I caught the corner of Asher’s mouth ticking up again.

“The rules are simple,” Jenny went on. “Stay inside the main lodge. You can’t ask Asher who killed him, because, you know, dead people can’t talk. You have fifteen minutes to scatter, search for clues, and find your alibis. After that, the game begins.”

She started calling out characters and motives. Tyler was the cocky ex-football player with a gambling debt. Zoe was the jealous ex-girlfriend. Rebecca was the manipulative best friend. Max was the awkward, overprotective little brother with a secret crush.

When she got to me, she grinned. “And Penny... you’re the sweet, innocent dancer with a dark side.”

I choked on my sip of water.

Asher’s thumb traced a slow circle on my thigh, and I shot him a look, but he just leaned in, murmuring, “Dark side, huh?”

I shivered, my cheeks warming, and Jenny clapped her hands again, pulling my attention back to her.

“Alright, you have fifteen minutes to scatter and figure out your stories,” she announced. “May the best liar win.”

The room exploded into a chaotic flurry of movement, people grabbing their drinks and racing to different corners of the lodge, whispers and snickers trailing behind them.

I turned to Asher, still a little breathless from the warmth of his hand on my thigh. He looked down at me, dark eyes gleaming with something that felt a lot like mischief.

“You better hide, princess,” he murmured, his voice a low, rumbling tease.

I shivered again, grinned, and then bolted for the hallway.