Page 11 of The Wreckage Of Us (US #2)

Ace

Three months.

Three damn months, and I still couldn’t believe this was my life.

If you’d told me half a year ago that Brittany and I would be sitting cross-legged on her living room floor, shoulder to shoulder, arguing over which pasta shape made the superior macaroni and cheese, I would’ve laughed in your face. Hell, I would’ve called you delusional.

But here we were.

Macaroni Fridays had become our thing.

Every Friday night, rain or shine, one of us would pick up the ingredients — elbow pasta, sharp cheddar, cream, sometimes bacon if Brittany was feeling fancy — and we’d make a mess of her tiny kitchen, laughing like idiots and pretending we had any idea what we were doing.

Sometimes Sylvia joined us, when she wasn’t knee-deep in papers or fending off her lovesick student — some guy who apparently thought moody brooding was the key to winning her heart. Brittany filled me in on all the drama, usually while snorting into her wine glass and half-spilling it on the rug.

And me? I soaked up every second like a man starved.

Tonight was no different.

Brittany was on her knees by the oven, peeking inside with an exaggerated squint. “Do you think it’s supposed to bubble like that?”

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, fighting back a grin. “It’s macaroni, not a science experiment, Britt.”

She shot me a glare over her shoulder, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re no help.”

“Hey,” I chuckled, pushing off the counter to join her. “I provide emotional support. That’s a critical role.”

Sylvia wandered in from the hallway just then, shrugging off her coat, her dark hair pulled up in a messy bun. She dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Another love letter?” Brittany teased, straightening and brushing her hands on a dishtowel.

Sylvia let out a groan, dragging a pillow over her face. “I swear to God, if that kid leaves one more note on my office door, I’m filing a restraining order.”

I snorted. “What’s his deal, anyway?”

Brittany laughed as she pulled the dish from the oven, setting it on the counter with a flourish. “Apparently he’s convinced Sylvia just hasn’t noticed how perfect they are for each other.”

Sylvia peeked out from under the pillow, her eyes half-lidded. “I gave him a C on his midterm. That’s all the notice he’s getting.”

We all dissolved into laughter, the kind that left me a little breathless, my chest tight in the best way.

This. This was what I’d been missing.

As we dug into the macaroni, sprawled out on the floor with mismatched bowls in our laps, I found myself watching Brittany more than I probably should’ve — the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when it fell into her face, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, the way she always, always made sure everyone else had enough before she served herself.

Somewhere along the line, friendship had turned into this — into something I craved, something that made me high on adrenaline just to be around. It was dangerous, maybe, how much I felt. But God, it was also the first time in years I’d felt alive.

“Okay,” Sylvia said, pushing to her feet and brushing crumbs off her jeans, “I’m leaving before I end up in a macaroni coma.”

Brittany grinned. “You sure you don’t want to stay for Taco Saturday?”

Sylvia groaned. “Don’t tempt me. I have papers to grade, hearts to crush.”

I laughed, standing to grab her coat. “Be gentle with him, yeah?”

She smirked as she took the coat from me. “No promises, Ace.”

When she left, Brittany and I lingered in the kitchen, washing dishes shoulder to shoulder, our elbows bumping, soap bubbles floating between us. It should’ve been mundane, boring even — but with her, even the quiet moments felt electric.

She nudged me with her hip as I rinsed a plate. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

I swallowed hard, fingers tightening on the plate. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

I set the plate aside, wiping my hands on a towel, heart pounding. This was it — the moment I’d been trying to work up to for weeks.

“About us,” I said quietly, turning to face her.

Her eyes widened, fingers freezing on the edge of the sink. “Us?”

I took a slow breath, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking. “Britt… these past few months have been… amazing. You’re amazing. And I know we said we’d start as friends, but—”

“Ace…” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.

I pressed on, words tumbling out faster than I could stop them. “But I want more. I want to take you out — on a real date. Just you and me. No macaroni, no tacos, no Sylvia grading papers in the corner. Just… us.”

For a second, the room was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat slamming in my ears.

Then Brittany smiled — slow, warm, the kind of smile that wrapped around my ribs and squeezed. She stepped closer, so close I could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, and before I could say another word, she leaned in and pressed the softest, sweetest kiss to my cheek.

I froze — breath hitching, heart crashing, mind going utterly blank.

When she pulled back, her eyes were bright, cheeks flushed. “I’d love that,” she murmured.

I blinked, still half-stunned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, giving me a playful shove. “Pick me up tomorrow at seven.”

I laughed, the sound bursting out of me like a dam breaking, all the tension and nerves and wild, giddy hope spilling over at once. “You got it.”

As I walked home that night — because there was no way in hell I was driving when my hands were shaking this bad — I felt like I could’ve floated all the way back to my apartment.

The cold air bit at my cheeks, the city lights blurred in the corners of my eyes, but none of it mattered.

She said yes.

She kissed my cheek.

She wanted us.

I jammed my hands deeper into my pockets, grinning so wide my face hurt, replaying the moment over and over in my head like a favorite song. The way her eyes sparkled. The way her lips felt against my skin. The way, for the first time in months, maybe even years, the world felt… right.

By the time I reached my place, I was breathless, a little lightheaded, and completely, stupidly happy.

And I knew, without a doubt, that this was only the beginning.