Page 22 of The Bro Pact
Kyle groans, popping one eye open to find me standing next to him with a warm plate of food in my hands. He smiles sleepily, and something in my heart trips over itself, skipping a beat.
“Time to eat. Breakfast in bed is served,” I tell him, setting his plate on the nightstand. “This is our last afternoon here, so you need to fuel up and shred these dunes, bro. And I need full energy to ride that cookie sheet,” I say seriously, hiking a thumb toward the oven.
I perch on the end of the bed with my own plate and take a big bite of my breakfast biscuit.
Kyle stretches and yawns, slowly waking up. He leans against the headboard, so I bend a knee to face him, continuing to eat.
“Did I hear you correctly when you said you’re going toride that cookie sheet?” Kyle lifts an amused brow, picking up his plate.
I wait in anticipation as he takes a bite, moaning at the simple goodness of it all.
“Yup. Need a sled,” I reply matter-of-factly.
It’s really not that crazy.
I pop a grape in my mouth, knowing full well that Mama Carol would be pissed if she knew what I was about to do with the cookie sheet she just bought for us.
Kyle shakes his head, reading my mind. “I really don’t want to explain to my mom how you were accidentally killed by her cookie sheet.”
I burst out laughing, biscuit crumbs flying out of my mouth and onto our bed.
“Oh, gross. Come on, bro,” Kyle complains. “We both gotta sleep here, remember?”
“It’s two crumbs, Ky,” I grumble with my mouth full, picking up the little pieces of biscuit with my fingers and dropping them onto my plate. “Chill out.”
Kyle shakes his head, trying to hide his smile behind another bite as we finish our breakfast in silence.
It’s time to give it one last go, and despite how he feels, I’m ’bout to ride the fuck outta this cookie sheet.
CHAPTER NINE
KYLE
“Told you the cookie sheet would make a good sled,” Ren says cockily, slowly turning his hot dogs in the flames.
He likes them burnt, and that’s just gross.
We’re lounging in our fabric folding chairs in front of the campfire, cooking dinner, and listening to some of the music Ren downloaded to his phone before we left.
I’m not even sure what it is. It kinda sounds like chick music, but I like it.
Today was exhausting, so I guzzle half my Jack and Coke to get the buzz going as I think back to the afternoon filled with sandboarding and cookie sheet riding.
It was wild.
And I wouldn’t change a thing.
“You flew down that hill faster than I thought you could, considering you just cooked our breakfast on your sled,” I admit, laughing loudly and ending with a hiccup. “I hope it wasn’t still hot. Did you burn your ass?”
“Ha. Ha. Drunkie.” Warren rolls his eyes. “No, of course I didn’t burn my ass. Wanna check?” he asks, standing up as if he’s going to turn around and yank his pants down.
But he’s wobbling slightly, and way too close to the fire.
I dart to my feet, grabbing his hips and squeezing with a little force. “Watch it, Ren. You're the one who’s too drunk.” I stare intently into his storm-gray eyes, slowly reaching for the potentially dangerous skewer in his hands.
Our fingers brush as I take it from him, setting our hot dogs on my plate.
“Hey! I wasn’t done cooking those! They’re barely charred,” he shouts, but I think it’s time for us to eat our hot dogs, put out the fire, and go to bed.
