Bro Code(12)

“What's going on? Do you both want to freeze your asses off out here?”

“No, he told me to wait insi-” Ava starts.

“I didn't want her to slip again and-” I interrupt, and she gives me a pleading look.

Nick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. How about we get inside? It's freezing balls out here.”

“Fine by me,” I say hastily, passing off the lightest bag to Ava.

She glances inside it, seeing the paper lanterns, and sighs. “I guess I'll go try to figure out how to assemble these before Mom and Dad get back.”

She walks past Nick without another word and into the house. I haul everything else up to the porch, turning back to head to the truck and close the door. I pause as Nick taps me on the shoulder.

“Did Ava say something to piss you off?” Nick asks, sounding none too surprised. “Everything that's happened with Dad has left her kind of moody.”

Hoisting the bags back into my arms, I give him a look. “No, man, she's fine. It's just weird to catch up after so long.”

Thankfully, he doesn't even blink at the lie. “Well, at least she's not driving you crazy. I wish she would just give up on this whole factory thing and instead get on with her own life.”

I thought she did have a life here, but a creak from behind catches my attention. Ava is standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, irritation tight between her brows.

I can tell by her expression that she heard every bit of that.

“Thanks for the support, Nick.” Sarcasm cuts through her tone, quick and sharp.

“Listen, I'm on your side, okay?” He puts his hands up like it'll ward her off. “That scrapheap shouldn't be anyone's business anymore. Even Barrett knows it's not worth your time.”

Ava stares at me, looking surprised and hurt all at once, and I rush to clarify, “That's not what I said. It's your decision, Ava.”

“But I think a lawyer knows a good deal when he sees one,” Nick insists.

I shrug. “If Ava says she can handle it, then she can handle it. Your dad put a lot of work into that place.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Stubborn or not, Nick tends to back down when he's outnumbered.

“Thank you, Barrett,” Ava says, deliberately emphasizing my name.

After a quick nod, I move to take the rest of the bags inside. She steps back out of the way, body just inches from mine, and I tell myself to keep on walking.

But not before one last phrase jettisons into my head out of the depths of my subconscious sins.

‘Mens rea.’

A guilty mind…how fucking appropriate.





Chapter Six


Ava


It’s a wonder my mother lets me help in the kitchen anymore. Her off-script cooking style and my dedicated loyalty to the recipe mix about as well as oil and vinegar—our evening of cookie baking made that clear yet again. With Dad, her usual sous chef, napping off his long morning of doctors’ appointments, she’s stuck with me and my slow but methodical process of slicing peppers in perfectly even slices.

“It’s all getting mixed up in a salad anyway,” she reminds me. “It doesn’t matter if they’re even or not.”

I accept the reminder with a smile but keep at my slow, precise work. After all, if I focus all my energy on this, maybe I won’t completely lose my mind over the master chef to my immediate left.

Barrett, playing the part of the perfect house guest, dices and chops vegetables along with me. Helping even though he's not even staying for dinner tonight. I’m careful to stand a solid foot to his side as not to run the risk of my arm brushing his, afraid of how visibly obvious it would be to Mom that just the brush of this man’s arm would send me into a state of euphoria. A kiss turned me on my head for over an hour. Still, watching his hands at work out of the corner of my eye is enough for me to wish he’d handle me with that kind of skill.

Something about a man who knows his way around the kitchen turns me on quicker than you can preheat an oven. Or maybe it’s just the way he cradles that cucumber, wrapping his large hand around it one finger at a time. Am I imagining things, or is Barrett holding that cucumber a little lewdly on purpose?

When I lift my gaze, the smug grin on his face gives me my answer. He runs his hand down the cucumber twice in a slow, stroking motion and my cheeks flush. He’s made a game out of teasing me, and there’s nothing I can do but play along. I roll my eyes in his direction, thankful that it seems to break the awkward tension from earlier today. But the second Mom turns her back to load dishes into the dishwasher, Barrett presses what I hope is a cucumber against my outer thigh and leans in close enough that his breath teases the hair on my neck.

I stop breathing, fearing if I make a sound that Mom will turn around and catch this, us, whatever this is.

“Stop staring, Ava,” he murmurs. His bottom lip barely grazes my ear lobe and a rush shoots through me. “We both know you couldn’t handle this.”

My God, please tell me that it's a cucumber up against my thigh and not his dick. I can’t even bring myself to look down, only straight ahead. I’m pretty much positive it isn’t a cucumber. If I make eye contact with Barrett, I’m going to push everything off this damn counter and beg him for it, cucumber or not.