Page 166 of Collide

I didn’t think someone like him would be lonely. It tugs at my heart. He lost his father, like I lost my mother. I can hear the sadness, I know it too well.

Andrew doesn’t let it go. “Yeah, but when the work’s done, Brody, who do you come home to?”

There’s a soft sizzle, something dropped into a pan. Eggs maybe. Bacon. Whatever it is, the smell hits a second later, warm and mouthwatering.

“Alright, man,” Andrew says. “I’ll leave you to it. You and Elena did a great job planning everything. Thanks again. You’re like the brother I wish I had.”

“You know I got you.”

Footsteps approach. I flatten against the wall, holding my breath as Andrew steps into the hallway, four water bottles cradled in his arms like precious cargo. Hangover insurance.

I wait until Andrew’s footsteps fade, the silence swelling thick and heavy again.

Circling wide, I slip down the other side of the hall. If I come in through the second entrance, maybe Broderick won’t suspect I heard anything I wasn’t meant to.

I take a steadying breath before padding into the kitchen, heart pounding relentlessly against my ribs.

I’m not much of an actress?—

“El.”

I freeze.

Look up.

And there he is.

Shirtless.

Oh, dear God.

Every muscle on him is carved and golden under the low kitchen lights, skin kissed by the sun, a dusting of chest hair catching the glow. His pecs and abs ripple. I must look like a deer caught clean in the headlights. Where Alex is all lean and polished, Broderick is bulk and rugged edges.

“Oh,” I stammer. “Sorry—I thought everyone had gone to bed.” At least I don’t have to pretend to be shocked, because at the mere sight of his perfect body, now I am.

Broderick chuckles, soft and rough. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I laugh awkwardly, placing my purse on top of the counter and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Something like that.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” I answer quickly, desperate to steer the conversation somewhere, anywhere else. “Whatcha making?”

“Grilled cheese,” he says, flipping the sandwich in the pan with a lazy flick of his wrist. “You want one?”

My stomach answers before I do, grumbling loud enough for both of us to hear.

“Please.” I huff, cheeks burning.

An easy grin spreads across his face. “Alright. Grilled cheese coming right up.”

I lean against the counter, arms crossed, watching him move—the way his back flexes when he reaches for a plate, the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants teasing the edge of indecency.Those dimples,burnt into my memory.

His body is perfection. I bite my lip swallowing my desire.

I shouldn’t be ogling him like this while Alex is upstairs.

“I’m sorry aboutearlier…” I say, the awkwardness of the situation of Broderick, Alex, and me, all entangled in my mess.