Page 28 of The Fake Out

With a shrug at his profile, I turned back to mine, but a second later, my scrolling was interrupted by loud, thumping steps.

“Why are you such an asshole?” Gi barked as she appeared again. “You seriously sent me a text now, asking whether this was okay?”

I was entranced by her, as usual, as she juggled the brush, her phone, a small black case, a bag, and some black piece of fabric that was slipping from her arm.

Shaking myself from my stupor, I hopped up and darted toward her, tripping on the leg of the coffee table and stumbling before I righted myself and closed the distance.

Her brows pulled together as I got closer. “What?” she snapped.

I held out my hand, and though she glowered at me, she didn’t put up a fight as I grabbed the black fabric before it could fall to the floor.

“Let me help, Gi,” I said quietly.

Almost imperceptivity, she nodded, pressing her lips together and ducking her head.

As I took the case from her, my fingers brushed against the back of hers. Instantly, goose bumps burst across her soft skin. With my heart in my throat, I took in the pebbled skin of her arm, slowly working my way up to her shoulder, then zeroing in on her breasts. Through her bra, I couldn’t tell, but I was dying to know if her nipples had hardened. And I was dying to wrap my lips around one and suck. Desperate to make her moan my name.

Like she could read my mind, her breath hitched. The sound forced me to lift my gaze up to the hollow of her throat where her pulse pounded. I took in her plump lips and her pink cheeks, then my gaze skated higher. Until finally, our eyes met. Her pupils were blown wide, eclipsing her dark irises. Her lids were heavy, her long lashes fluttering. I wanted to lean close. Press my lips to hers. Feel every soft curve of her body.

I brushed my thumb over the back of her hand again, and she shifted closer.

“What are you doing?” The sound clawed at my ears, and on instinct, I jerked back, heart pounding and stomach sinking.

Chris was in the damn room.

My head snapped around to her brother. His narrowed eyes flicked between me and his sister. Fuck. Could he tell what I had just been thinking? I swallowed. No way. Not if I acted normal.

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “I was being a gentleman. Helping her so she didn’t drop shit.”

The crease between her brows was back. “I wasn’t going to drop anything,” she said, tearing the case from my hand and stomping toward her brother.

I fought the smile forming on my lips as she set down the case and the bag, then discreetly checked the floor around her, clearly realizing she was missing something.

“You’re right. You definitely weren’t going to drop it,” I assured her as I balled up the black piece of fabric and tossed it to Chris.

“You could just accept help,” he muttered to his sister.

“Did you actually want me to cut your hair?” Gi crossed her arms and lifted her chin.

Chris held his free hand up. “Truce?”

“Just sit down and stop being annoying.” She pointed at the stool, and he complied, passing the black wrap to her as he did.

While she swung the fabric around and hooked it around his neck, I moved back to the sofa and pulled up Instagram to kill time.

Hannah had uploaded a reel featuring the mascots, along with Quinn, Price, and me.

The Revs mascots were a trio of revolutionary soldiers dressed in regimental uniforms under baseball jerseys.

Quinn and Price and I were each teamed up with one mascot to run a relay race. I’d joined the drumming soldier with the throwback jersey, and he and I had crushed it.

Quinn was young, and Price might be the big bat of the team, but I had the speed. And although my fun-loving drummer dropped his sticks early on and had to stop to pick them up, putting us in last, I’d made up the time, and we’d pulled off a win. The drama the mascots launched into had me chuckling. The one on the horse stomped around in circles, and the third flailed on the ground, throwing a tantrum.

“You excited about Friday?” Chris asked over the snipping of the scissors.

Gianna was silent, and although I was trying not to intrude on their conversation, my ears perked up at her lack of response, because she had sounded excited a few days ago.

“Why are you pouting?”

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