Page 44 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

HARRIET FISHER

W e end up on the pull-out sofa together. Side by side. Not before I changed in the bathroom. I’m wearing a baggy Evanescence band tee over my black Thursday panties. Unfortunately, I forgot to pack my pajama shorts. I usually just sleep in an oversized T-shirt, so it didn’t cross my mind.

Until I had to walk back into the living room. Fabric barely covering my thighs.

Ben just smiled.

Which, really, felt more intimate than it should. He makes no attempt to act like I’m an ugly duckling. It’s very clear he finds me at least a teeny bit hot, and I also haven’t exactly pretended he’s a grotesque swamp monster.

He is fucking gorgeous.

I try to stare at the laptop balancing on his thigh and not up at his eyes. I’m still thunderstruck that the Cobalts don’t have a television in here. I thought that was a basic living room requirement.

Ben has bent one knee, his arm resting on top, lounging comfortably above the sheets and navy-blue quilt. My brain has circled back to the fact that this is where we’ll both also be sleeping. Together. I try not to get into too much of a thought loop or my cheeks will be cherry-tomato red.

He scrolls through a streaming service when he says, “He lives three floors below me, you know.”

I frown. “Who?”

“Xander.” Oh, his mind must not have left his cousin.

“I didn’t know he lived in this building until the entrance security mentioned the Hales.” I crunch on a kernel of popcorn. He gave me the bag earlier. “Do you…talk to him?” I realize how silly that question sounds when I say it.

His brows hike. “I think he’d rather eat staples.” He takes a handful of popcorn when I hold out the bag. “But I mention it in case you want to say hi to him or whatever. I know you’re friends.”

Not like I’m friends with you . Those words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to release them through my swelling throat. He shoves the popcorn in his mouth, chewing slowly while swiping through movies.

Setting the popcorn bag aside, I sit up a little against the mound of fluffy pillows and hug my legs to my chest. My T-shirt rides up. I’m not full-on flashing Ben, but that’s not even worrying me right now.

I glance over at him. “Does sitting in class together count as friends?” I wonder. “It’s not like I have his number.”

“You’re definitely friends, Fisher.”

I don’t know why that makes my stomach roll worse. I should be happy that he thinks Xander and I are friends, but in a way, it feels a little like betrayal. No?

His eyes are on the laptop screen as he adds, “I would understand if you wanted to be more than friends with him. Most girls would kill for the chance.” His gaze flashes over to me. “He’s Xander Hale.”

This is not where I thought the night was going. Ben giving me permission to date his cousin. I’m so much farther in the friend zone with Ben than I even thought. Does he not feel even a smidge of attraction toward me? Has it been one-sided this whole time?

That…doesn’t make sense.

His muscles are flexed. He’s letting out tighter breaths through his nose.

My cheeks are hot. “I’m not really interested in Xander like that.” And there’s a good chance Xander wouldn’t like me if he really knew me. Not all people would be as cool as Ben hearing about my past blow job deals. Or even proposing to blow their brother.

His shoulders loosen as he leans back into the pillows beside me.

“Then he’ll be a good friend to you.” He runs his fingers through his hair before holding on to the top of the laptop.

Like he’s bracing for something. He checks behind his shoulder.

Coast is clear. Then his voice becomes a whisper.

“I’m leaving the city in November, so you’ll at least have him to hang with. ”

A deep scowl seizes my face. “You’re leaving New York in November?” I roll those acidic words on my tongue. That’s two months away. “You just talked about taking a P.E. class with me next semester.”

He goes pale. “I shouldn’t have offered that.

Sorry.” He places the popcorn bag over on the side table, so nothing is between us, then scrapes another hand through his hair.

“When I’m around you or talking to you, I sometimes forget that I’m not planning on staying.

” His voice is tight—like a knot is in his throat.

I feel it in mine.

My breath cages, and I try my best to stifle the sudden, swelling pain that permeates through me. “Where are you going?”

Ben’s voice stays hushed. “The wilderness. Somewhere remote.”

“Going to live off the grid, nature boy?”

“Something like that.”

My stomach twists. “I was joking.”

He tries to smile, but it looks pained. “I’m not though.

” My future friendship with Ben takes a serious nosedive.

I could never live off the grid, and how would I even visit him?

I can’t imagine hiking through dense foliage.

Mosquitoes alone terrify me. Would there even be cell reception?

I hate the idea of losing our phone calls.

Of never being able to talk to him again. I think that’s the worst part.

He glances warily at the hallways that lead to the bedrooms. “My brothers don’t know.”

“I won’t tell them.” Another secret to keep. Being quiet, I speak under my breath. “Does being broke have to do with this remote wilderness plan?”

“Yeah, in a way.” Before I ask, he says, “You won’t be able to call. You could write though.”

I swallow hard . “Will you write back?”

He nods.

“Why are you going?” I ask. But the question I really want answered is: Is there any way I can convince you to stay? I can’t manage it. It feels like too much of an ask from me.

“It’s something I just really need to do. I planned to go a while back, before moving to New York, but my brothers—they’re persistent.” Maybe he misses nature, and he has some sort of soul-deep calling to be in the woods.

I don’t know what else to say to him. Tension pulls all my muscles taut, and I’m glad he put the popcorn away because I’ve completely lost my appetite. But I can’t loosen my grip off my legs. Hugging them to my chest gives me protection from feeling utterly fucking exposed.

My eyes burn as I focus on the laptop screen, unable to even glance at Ben.

He was never really mine, so I don’t understand why I feel so shattered at the idea of losing him.

“Harriet…” His voice is a soft, broken whisper. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” I lie. “I’m just processing.

It’s not like I expected us to be best friends forever and graffiti Ben and Harriet BFF on a toilet stall.

That would be silly. We’re just hanging out for a few months, sharing a class, working together.

It’s not that deep.” I partly say the words out loud to make sure my subconscious is getting this memo.

The other part is to see Ben’s reaction.

His lips flatline, but he nods tensely. “But to be clear,” he tells me. “I’ve never invited a friend to spend the night with me. I’m usually over their house, so it might not be that deep but it’s not my norm.”

It might not be that deep.

But it’s not his norm.

I’m a vessel for conflicted emotions. His words are a paradox gifted with a bow.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said “it’s not that deep” to begin with.

The lie hurts. This has been the deepest friendship I’ve ever had, and we’ve only been hanging out for a month and a half.

I just didn’t expect him to agree with me—but I’m an idiot because I rolled those dice.

I don’t know how to do this. Friendships. Relationships that last longer than a full moon. I’m saying the wrong things in some wasted effort to protect my heart.

At least he told you, Harriet.

At least he didn’t just leave out of the blue.

“What’s your favorite movie?” he asks.

My eyes sear as I restrain more emotion. “Sugar & Spice. I don’t think you’ll like it though.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s about a group of cheerleaders who plan to rob a bank when one of them gets pregnant. It’s a chick flick.”

“I have a little sister, remember? I’m well-acquainted with chick flicks.

Let’s do it.” He’s clicking on his laptop and pulling up the film.

He keeps glancing at me. Not that I’ve made eye contact.

I am successfully avoiding that. But I can feel the heat of his concern bearing on me in three-second increments.

He nudges my shoulder with his. “Harriet,” he breathes. “Can you look at me at least?”

I bite the inside of my lip before turning my head and catching the depth of his baby blues.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I should’ve told you sooner that I didn’t plan on staying in New York. If you don’t want to hang out anymore?—”

“No,” I wince. The idea of cutting him out of my life right now is too abrupt. I’m eviscerated just thinking about it. “I want to hang out. We have the rest of September and all of October, right?”

He nods strongly. “Yeah.”

“Okay, then we have two months, and I will try my best not to be the world’s grumpiest person during that span of time.”

He laughs. “I’ll take what I can get. You want to be grumpy, that’s not going to bother me.” He pauses a beat before he adds, “I just can’t stand it when you’re sad.”

Then don’t leave . I still can’t manage the words. “I’m trying not to be.”

He wraps an arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer to his side, and I instinctively unfurl from my roly-poly position, my body subconsciously craving his embrace, his comfort.

I rest my cheek on his bicep, and his arm falls to my waist. He’s holding me against his sturdy, athletic frame, and I start to will myself to forget about his impending departure from the city. From my life.

The movie plays, and we sink down a little together. I’m lying into him like he’s a pillow, and his hand makes small soothing circles on my arm. I’ve never half-watched Sugar & Spice. I’m usually engrossed by the campiness and dark humor, but tonight my mind wanders so easily.