Page 54 of No Save Point

Carter holds the door open for me, his hand ghosting over the small of my back as we step inside. And God, that tiny little touch shouldn’t make my stomach flip the way it does. We slide into a booth, Carter grabbing a couple of sticky menus, but I don’t even look at mine before blurting it out. “Would it be okay if I stayed one more day?”

Carter stills. His fingers tighten slightly around the menu, his jaw clenching just the smallest bit like he’s trying to rein in his reaction. His eyes light up. “Yes.”

It’s instant. Immediate. Zero hesitation. Like he was just waiting for me to ask. Like he was already dreading saying goodbye before I even brought it up.

I bite my lip, hiding a smile. “That fast, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as he tosses the menu onto the table. “You think I’d turn that down?” His voice is low, warm, threaded with something deeper. “You could’ve told me you were staying a week and I still would’ve said yes.”

And god, the way he says it like he actually means it, like he wouldn’t mind keeping me here a little longer, like he’d rather not let me go at all sends a slow, heated ache curling through my chest.

Lunch wraps up with easy conversation, stolen glances, and the unspoken weight of knowing I just bought myself one more day with Carter. One more day to figure out why this feels different. One more day to ignore the way last night keeps creeping into my thoughts.

Carter pays the check before I can even pretend to argue, and we slide back into his car, the drive to the Airbnb quieter, heavier somehow.

Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe that’s just my own head replaying last night in loops I can’t stop. By the time we pull up, I barely remember the drive.

I move on autopilot, grabbing the bag I never even touched, shoving it into my car, letting the owner know I’m leaving early.

I follow Carter back to his house. Back to where I woke up this morning wrapped in his arms. Back to where his brother’s hands were on me last night.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my pulse kicking up the longer I drive, the longer my thoughts spiral, the longer I let myself sink back into the things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

The way Carter kissed me like I was something to be worshiped. The way Tate took me like I was something to be claimed. The way I let both of them have me. The way I fucking liked it. I swallow hard, forcing my eyes back to the road, to the car in front of me, to the boy who is still trying to figure out what the hell this is between us. I don’t have a fucking clue either.

I pull into Carter’s driveway, parking right behind him, the engine still humming under my hands as I watch him step out of his car.

And because he’s such a damn golden boy, he immediately heads toward me instead of his own house, reaching for my door like I suddenly don’t have working arms. I roll my eyes as I pop it open. “You don’t have to—”

“I got it,” he cuts in, reaching for my bag in the passenger seat before I can grab it myself.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head as I climb out, letting him take it because, honestly? He’s gonna do it no matter what I say.

The house is quiet when we step inside, but the second Carter shuts the door behind us, I hear it.

Tate’s voice. Muffled but still clear, coming from down the hall, his usual cocky drawl filling the space between the occasional burst of keyboard clicks. He’s streaming. An idea hits me. A bad one. A funny one. A Tate-will-probably-love-this-but-Carter-will-definitely-have-some-feelings-about-it one.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I follow the sound, stepping toward Tate’s room, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside.

Tate’s at his desk, his mask perched on top of his head, headset locked in place, eyes glued to the screen in front of him. His chat flies by, comment after comment flooding in as he leans into his mic. I don’t hesitate. I step into frame. “Well, well, well,” I announce, voice dripping with mock rivalry. “The ultimate enemies finally meet.”

The reaction? Instant fucking chaos. His chat explodes, a flood of reactions filling the screen, messages coming in so fast I can barely register them.

Tate throws his head back with a laugh, his chair tipping slightly as he turns to me, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, pretty girl,” he says, his voice practically a purr. “You have no idea what you just did.”

I grin, resting my hands on the back of his chair, playing it up, watching the chat explode even more.

I glance over my shoulder, catching the way Carter’s jaw tenses for just a split second, the way his arms cross, the way his soft energy dims for just a moment before he forces an exhale and shakes his head. He knows it’s funny. But he doesn’t like it. And fuck, why does that make me like it even more?

Tate’s grinning like he just won the lottery, one hand still on his mouse, the other tapping at his keyboard as he shifts his gaze between me and the chat. “See, chat?” He leans back, spreading his arms wide like he’s welcoming me into his chaos. “She talks all that shit online, but here she is. In my house. In my fucking bedroom.” His chat explodes again, messages flooding in at an unreadable speed.

I bite my lip, holding back a laugh as I glance at Carter again.

And yeah, shit, he’s not amused. The arms-crossed stance. The jaw-clench. The barely-there shift in his energy that says he’s seconds away from shutting this whole thing down. And God, I love it.

I push off Tate’s chair, flipping my hair over my shoulder like I’m walking away from a battlefield I just won. “Don’t gas yourself up too much, Tate,” I tease. “I just wanted to see how much of a little bitch you really look like in person.”

Tate laughs, full-bodied, eyes flashing as he watches me turn to leave. “Oh, Haven,” he calls after me. “You have no fucking idea.”

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