Page 74 of The Gaybor War

Not revenge—this isn’t that. Not pursuit, either. Chasing him would spook him, and I didn’t get this far by ignoring the temperament of the creature in front of me.

No, this requires finesse.

Carter kissed me because I didn’t ask him to. Because I stopped performing. Because I gave him space and let him step into it.

So that’s the move.

I will be normal.

Aggressively normal.

I will wave when I see him. I will not linger.

I will attend meetings and not sit next to him.

I will let him wonder if the kiss meant as much to me as it clearly did to him.

I grin at the thought, unable to help myself.

"Oh, Carter, you are going to hate this."

I glance out the window to see his lights are still on. Good. Let him pace. Let him spiral. Let him decide. Because the next time we kiss—and there will be a next time—I don’t want it stolen in a laundry room between spin cycles. I want him choosing me in the daylight.

I turn off the kitchen light, already rehearsing my calm smile for tomorrow.

Weaponized restraint, activated.

Brunch is brunching and the girls are already three mimosas deep by the time I realize Malia hasn’t stopped staring at me.

Not casually. Not socially. Clinically.

I lower my glass. "What."

She doesn’t even blink. "Spill, Benji."

"Spill what?" I lift my glass protectively. "I don’t want to spill a single, precious drop of this. I plan to consume every delicious molecule."

"The tea," she says patiently.

"I don’t have tea," I reply haughtily.

Candace snorts. "You always have tea."

Fine. I sigh theatrically. "Jim Masterson was caught breeding his dog with Archie Peters’s hound through the fence. Illegal, nonconsensual cross-breeding. Shocking. Honestly, the audacity."

Nobody reacts.

"Benji," Malia says flatly. "Nobody cares who Jim’s dog is sleeping with."

"That’s not the tea," Candace adds.

"Well," I continue, undeterred, "I also saw Maylene going through Eunice’s mail, and she⁠—"

"Benji," Shania snaps, cutting me off. "Stop sidestepping the fact that you got laid."

I choke on my mimosa.

"I did?" I gasp. "News to me. Who was the lucky chap?"