Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 86

I wake slowly. I don’t want to. My limbs feel heavy, my body molten with sleep. For a second, everything’s soft and weightless, like I’ve sunk into the warmest place on earth.

Then I blink.

And I realize I’m alone in bed.

But I can hear water running—softly, distantly. The shower.

My heart picks up speed.

Everything from last night rushes in like a flood: the party, Tyler, the wrist, the ride home. Asher’s hands. His voice. His breath against my ear. His body next to mine. The way I curled into him like it was the only place I was safe. The way he let me.

The way I touched him.

My stomach flips violently. I shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have run my fingers over his scar like it meant something. Shouldn’t have whispered his name into his chest like it belonged to me.

But I did.

And now I’m wide awake, and he’s not in bed, and my body’s still buzzing like it hasn’t figured out yet that it’s morning. That the spell is broken.

I sit up and tug on the nearest thing—my old gray joggers from the floor. They hang low on my waist, the drawstring long since useless. I don’t care. I yank off last night’s tight shirt and pull on a hoodie instead. Not his. Not this time. I already feel enough guilt pressing on my lungs.

The water cuts off. The pipes groan in the walls.

I head downstairs barefoot, the floor cold under my feet. The house is quiet, sun just barely starting to pour through the curtains. I need to do something with my hands. Something ordinary. Safe.

I start cutting fruit.

There’s a basket of apples and bananas on the counter. I find a half-empty container of strawberries in the fridge. A peach. I slice slowly, methodically, every piece stacked in neat little piles on the plate like a tiny fruit mosaic.

I don’t hear him come in.

But I feel him.

The shift in air. The prick of awareness down my spine.

I glance up and—

God.

His hair is wet, still dripping faintly onto the collar of his white shirt. The shirt hugs every inch of muscle, clinging to the hard lines of his chest and shoulders like it’s been painted on. He’s wearing grey sweatpants. The dangerous kind. The kind girls on the internet make memes about. The kind that makes me wish I hadn’t looked up at all.

I can’t breathe.

I look back down, pretend the strawberries are the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.

“You want some fruit?” I ask, trying to sound normal.

He nods, voice low. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I slide a plate toward him and wipe my hands on a dish towel, avoiding his gaze. He sits on one of the stools. I see his eyes drop to my wrist. I see his jaw twitch. I see the way his fingers tighten around the edge of the counter.

I glance at his forearm. At the scar I touched in the dark. It’s hidden now, but I remember the shape of it. The feel of it. The way his voice got rough when he told me how it happened. The way he didn’t pull away.

The silence stretches.

“When’s your first rehearsal?” he finally asks.

“Tomorrow,” I say. “Three o’clock. Just a short one. Three hours.”

He nods, chewing a piece of apple. “I might not be here when you come back. Rooster asked if I wanted to grab dinner with him and his fiancée tomorrow night.”

My heart sinks a little, stupidly.

“Oh,” I say. “That’s nice.”

He hesitates. Then adds, “If you’re not too tired after rehearsal… maybe you can come.”

I blink. “What?”

He looks at me—calm, unreadable, but not guarded. “You should meet him. And Anna. I think you’d like them.”

I can barely process that. “You don’t mind me meeting your friend?”

He shrugs. “Why would I?”

“I just… didn’t think you’d want me there.”

His mouth tugs slightly at the corner. “You think too much.”

I press my lips together, trying not to grin. “I do that.”

“So?”

I bite into a slice of peach to buy myself a second. “I’d like that. But I won’t be done until six.”

“We’ll meet them at seven.”

My heart swells stupidly. “Okay.”

The last slice of peach is halfway to my mouth when my phone buzzes across the counter. I glance at the screen and see **Mila** in big, bold letters.

I pick up, curious. “Hey, are you okay?”

There’s noise in the background. A muffled voice, music. Then Mila’s voice—sharp and quiet.

“Penny,” she says urgently. “Act like I have to come get you. I’m putting you on speaker.”

I blink. “Wait, what? Why—”

“Just do it,” she hisses. “I’m at that guy’s place. I want out.”

I gasp, eyes going wide. “Mila, did you… have sex with him??”

“Shut up,” she growls. “Pretend. I’m on speaker now.”

I catch on and scramble, clearing my throat and pitching my voice higher.

“Oh my god, Mila, please—please, I need you,” I say, clutching the phone dramatically. “My car broke down and I’m stuck here and my parents are going to *kill* me. Can you come get me? Please?”

Mila, with a very audible sigh, responds in her most convincing exasperated voice. “Ugh, fine. I’m so sorry, I have to leave,” she says to someone off-screen. “My friend’s stranded and her parents are gonna flip. I’ll text you.”

She lowers her voice again. “Thanks, babe,” she whispers. “You saved my life.”

Then the line goes dead.

I burst out laughing, almost choking on air. I toss my phone on the counter and lean on my elbows, grinning.

“That was so unnecessary but *so* entertaining,” I mutter, shaking my head.

Across from me, Asher’s watching me with this amused look on his face, like he can’t quite believe what he just heard.

He smiles.

Not just a polite curve of his lips, but a real one. One that softens his eyes and draws the tension off his shoulders just a little.

“What?” I say, cheeks warm.

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

But he’s still smiling.