Page 62 of The Gaybor War

The laundry basket shifts behind me, the handle bumping into my ass as I stumble back a step. He drops the shirt to the floor and follows without thinking, crowding me in, heat everywhere. The room feels suddenly too small for the amount of want in it.

He pulls back just long enough to murmur, breath wrecked, "This isn’t because the girls want this for us."

I‘m close enough to feel his words against my mouth. "I should hope not."

He kisses me again—slower this time, deeper, memorizing my taste. His slick tongue slides over mine again and again. My hand drops to his waist, and his breath hitches in a way that feels unfairly satisfying.

For a moment, the world narrows to the hum of appliances and the press of his body and the undeniable truth settling between us:

This isn’t gossip.

This isn’t a game.

This is choice.

And Carter is finally making it.

When we finally part, foreheads touching, neither of us says the obvious thing.

We don’t have to.

We both want this—and worse, we already know we’re going to want it again.

As my lips cool, the world rushes back in, dragging reality with it. Carter exhales first, a shaky breath against my cheek, as if he’s surprised his lungs still work. My hands are still on his hips. His are still fisted in my shirt. Neither of us moves right away, because moving would mean deciding something.

"This," he says quietly, not pulling away, "can’t turn into a spectacle."

I snort under my breath. "Relax. I only perform under very specific lighting conditions."

The corner of his mouth twitches. It’s not a smile, but close enough. Then he finally steps back, putting a few inches of space between us. Breathing room. I watch him run a hand through his hair.

The reset button.

"I mean it, Benji."

His voice is serious.

"I know."

"No group chat theories. No HOA betting pools. No Candace making spreadsheets."

"First of all, Candace already has spreadsheets."

His look sharpens.

I lift both hands. "Kidding. Mostly."

He shakes his head, but there's no real frustration behind it.

"I just..." He hesitates. "I'd like one thing in this neighborhood to belong to us before everyone else gets their hands on it."

The words land harder than the kiss. Because this isn't Carter pulling away. It's Carter asking me to stay.

I stare at him for a second. "Wow."

His brow furrows. "What?"

"That might be the most romantic thing you've ever said."