Page 49 of Reckless: Collision

“Can I get out of this?”

“No.” Finn’s smirk is positively wicked. “You agreed.”

“Did I? Because I don’t actually recall agreeing. Pretty sure I’d remember signing up for suicide by mountain.” I focus on my food even as my heart pounds at the thought. One hell of a trust fall indeed.

“We can discuss details tomorrow.” Ryker leans back in his chair, his posture relaxing slightly. “Thank you.”

My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “Can you repeat that? I’m pretty sure I just had a seizure.”

“You heard me.” He pushes back from the table. “I’m going to bed. Put your dishes in the dishwasher.”

The alpha command in his voice sets my teeth on edge, but he’s gone before I can craft a properly scathing response.

“Is he really going to bed?”

“He’s an early riser.” Jinx’s tone suggests there’s more to it. “Anyone want to watch a movie?”

For a moment, I’m tempted. The thought of curling up on that ridiculous circular couch, letting their presence fill the static in my head... “No,” I say instead, because it’s too much.

Too cozy. Too domestic. Too damn close to something I can’t afford to want.

My appetite vanishes like a corrupted file. “I think I’ll head to bed too.”

Three sets of knowing eyes follow me as I stand, and their understanding burns worse than their judgment would. I can’t look at them as I head to the kitchen, methodically rinsing my plate and loading the dishwasher like this is normal. Like I belong here.

The moment I shut my basement door, I slide down to sit on the top step, head in my hands.

“What are you doing here, Cay?” I rub my temples where a headache builds. “Making them dinner and planning what are probably dates.” Trust fall my ass. It’s spending time with them.

Quality fucking time.

The friendship bracelet on my wrist catches the light, a reminder of simpler times. Of craft nights and wine and friends who didn’t know they were about to become collateral damage in my crusade.

The memory slams into me without warning—sounds and colors suddenly cranked to maximum fidelity, overwhelming my senses. My pulse accelerates to match the rhythm of that night, body temperature rising 1.2 degrees as my muscles tense in exact replication of how I sat then. The taste of cheap wine floods my mouth while phantom laughter echoes in my ears with such precision I actually turn toward the sound before realizing it’s coming from inside my own head.

“You’re serious?” My laughter echoes through my apartment as I snatch the canvas bag from Ginger’s dainty hands. Inside, tackle boxes overflow with string in every color of the rainbow. “Ginger, you little craft child, you.”

She steals it back, platinum blonde hair swinging. “Shut your whore mouth.” But she’s grinning as she breezes past me into my apartment, Aria and Willow on her heels.

“I for one love the idea.” Willow practically bounces with excitement.

“Me too.” Aria shuts the door, juggling wine and what looks like enough snacks to survive an apocalypse. Mating suits her—she glows with it, radiates contentment like a perfectly optimized system.

I look away, focusing on my hosting duties. My apartment is the smallest of our group—a tech cave masquerading as living space. Usually it doesn’t bother me. I don’t need much room for my equipment. But times like these, watching my friends spread out in my cramped living room, I wish I had more to offer.

They don’t seem to mind, piling pillows on the floor, spreading blankets like we’re teenagers at a sleepover. The tackle boxes take over my coffee table, a rainbow arsenal of string and beads.

“So, friendship bracelets.” I eye the setup from my tiny kitchen where I’ve arranged a charcuterie board of all our favorites. Bread, jam, fancy crackers—the works.

Ginger looks up, pale blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Crafts,” she wiggles her fingers like casting a spell, “brings us closer. Come sit.”

“I’m horrible at crafts.”

“With that attitude, you will be.” She pats the floor beside her.

“Fine.” I flop down, immediately grabbing the green box because if I’m going to fail at this, I’m doing it with my favorite color.

“I figured we’d all work on the same pattern,” Ginger explains, “just in case anyone gets lost.”

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