Page 14 of The Bro Date (Best Bros Forever #2)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

TOBY

L ast night was a literal dream, and I somewhat question whether it actually happened, but then I roll over, bumping into a hard body that smells like citrus, bergamot, and sweat.

Shane.

He kissed me last night. Actually fucking kissed me. And not just in my dreams. My morning wood thickens, poking his leg before I quickly pull my hips back.

Whoops.

I glance over and make sure his eyes are closed before carefully pulling the covers back and crawling out of bed. My mouth feels like I passed out on the beach and swallowed a gallon of sand. I’m desperate for one of the water bottles I keep in the mini fridge by my desk.

Twisting the cap off, I close my eyes and chug, loudly crinkling the plastic as I suck the water down. I can’t help it, I’m dehydrated.

“Ahh,” I exhale, tossing the empty bottle into the trash.

A throat clears behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin when I spin around to find Shane sitting up in bed with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

I glance down, forgetting I’m in nothing but a little black thong and completely exposed.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

My hands dart in front of my junk even though he just got a full moon for God knows how long.

“You weren’t this shy last night,” Shane chuckles, his deep voice rough with sleep. Dark eyes roam my exposed skin as if he likes what he sees, and after that kiss, maybe he does.

Because straight boys don’t make out with their best friends for no reason. Right?

“I obviously had a couple drinks, so I didn’t care about being ninety-five percent naked in front of you like I do right now.” I shuffle over to my dresser and grab a clean pair of basketball shorts, slipping them on before sitting back on the bed next to Shane.

“I see. And how do you feel about kissing me? Do you regret it?”

“What? No! Of course not.” Panic starts to creep in when he continues to stare at me. “Why? Do you?”

Please say no. Please say no. Please say no.

“No.”

Oh, thank God.

I hope the relief on my face isn’t too obvious.

“It was nice.”

Warmth blooms in my heart and in my cheeks, hope blossoming to life at the thought of kissing him again.

“A little confusing for me, but nice,” Shane adds.

I know what it’s like to be confused and question your sexuality. It’s completely draining and isolating, and I don’t want that for Shane. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Hey,” he says, leaning forward in bed and cupping my cheek with his rough palm. “Do not apologize. I kissed you . Because I wanted to . . .”

My heartbeat whooshes in my ears, and I feel dizzy at his words.

How is this actually happening right now?

“Because I worry about you, Toby. You can’t meet up with random guys.”

Ohhh. I get it now.

“So, it was a pity kiss?” My voice cracks on the last word, and I glance away, fighting the tears threatening to spill over.

“Toby.” I stare at the desk, chewing on my lip aggressively.

“Toby. Look at me,” he growls, and I can’t ignore his deep voice calling my name any longer.

Shane reaches out and releases my lip with his thumb, rubbing the tender flesh.

“It was never about pity . . . I just . . . I can’t stand the thought of another man putting his mouth on you. His hands . . .”

My world stops, and my mind goes blank.

“When I saw you in Tate's stories, the fear in my gut was visceral, and I had no choice but to leave work and come get you.”

The reminder that Shane lost his job hits me like a ton of bricks, crushing any joy I was feeling at hearing him actually express his feelings. He hides his emotions and buries things deep down. Always has. “You lost your job because of me?”

“I didn’t lose it, I quit.” He folds his arms across his chest, unremorseful.

“What? Why did you quit?” Shane’s on his own when it comes to money, and he’s had a job ever since he was fourteen and legally able to.

“Because I left the kitchen during a shift again, and Raúl was gonna fire me. I can’t have that. I should have quit a long time ago, Toby. You know I hate that asshole. Don’t worry about it.”

It still feels like it’s my fault, but another thing he said rings like an alarm bell in my head.

“You said again . . . When was the other time you left in the middle of a shift?” Shane hesitates to answer, and it feels a little weird.

“Was it because of me again?” My brows crease, trying to think of when it could have been.

“When you had a coffee date across the street from The Sandbar,” he admits, completely unashamed and unapologetic.

“Oh my God! You are a stalker!” I laugh, playfully slapping him on the bicep and letting my hand linger on his bare skin a little too long, maybe even giving it a squeeze.

“Not just a stalker. Your stalker,” he corrects me with a shrug. “I have to keep you safe, Tobes. I always have, and I always will.”

My heart melts at his words, completely understanding how all the damsels in distress feel in the historical romance novels I love. “Wait, so you sacrificed your job to protect me?”

That’s kind of hot, even though I feel terrible about it.

“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly, staring directly into my eyes and causing strange things to happen to my insides.

I swallow hard and lick my lips, wishing he’d make another move and kiss me again. His dark eyes dart down to my mouth and linger there.

“What’re you gonna do?” I ask breathlessly, knowing he needs a job to pay for school.

Kiss me, Shane.

Kiss me.

He breaks the spell I was under and whips the covers back, getting out of bed. “To start, I’m gonna go make breakfast. Come down in thirty.” Shane leaves me stewing in desire, and I flop back on the bed, staring up at the old ceiling fan with dust clinging to its edges.

I trace a finger over my lips, remembering the ghost of his kiss and dying for another.

It’s basically my fault that Shane lost his job, so I made a phone call and got him an interview with the catering company my family has used a few times over the years.

It pays a lot better than Raúl, so selfishly, I’m excited by the idea of him having more free time.

And of course, less stress and more money.

But one thing about Shane is that he doesn’t accept help very easily, so I have to go about this carefully and strategically, choosing my words wisely. “So, don’t be mad, but?—”

“That’s not really how you should start a conversation, Tobes,” Shane deadpans, continuing to work on his Econ homework at the kitchen island, while I attempt to study Music History and fail. My mind is preoccupied with how to tell him about the interview.

“Whoops. You’re right,” I chuckle, setting my highlighter down.

Guess that went a lot better in my head.

“But this is actually a really good thing. I promise!”

Shane looks skeptical, so I just blurt out the good news.

“I got you an interview with Coastal Cuisine, one of the best catering companies in town. It’s pretty much a shoo-in because I’ve known Glenn for years, and he loves me. They’ve catered a few of my parents’ parties, and the food is amazing. You would fit right in.”

Shane keeps his emotions close to his chest, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “Do your parents know? Were they involved?”

He doesn’t want a handout from them, and I don’t blame him one bit.

“No. Of course not. The owners of the company are a kind, older couple, and I know them personally. They don’t even like my parents,” I chuckle.

I can see the wheels turning, and I really hope he says yes.

He needs this.

He deserves this.

“Just let me help you for once, like you always help me,” I plead, picking at the corner of my textbook.

“Okay. Thank you, Toby. Really. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.” A small smile pulls at his lips, and my heart stutters at the beauty that is Shane Carmichael smiling and happy.

I need to see it more often.