"Good," Brooke echoes.

My hands linger around the curve of her waist, stroking her smooth skin. Touching her is addictive, and even though I know it might not lead to anything more tonight, I'm more than fine with that.

Don't get me wrong—I'd still prefer the getting laid scenario, but I can wait.

Her lips part, and her sky blue eyes trace my face. It looks like she's about to say something, but her stomach rumbles audibly and her mouth tugs into a sheepish grin.

"I think I'm experiencing a sugar crash from all that cake," she admits. "Eat first, more kissing later?"

"Solid plan."

I gently set Brooke back down on her feet, stepping out of her way. She turns around and reaches past me to retrieve two white plates from the upper cabinet, handing one to me. We move around each other in the kitchen, taking servings from the styrofoam containers of deep-fried spring rolls, panang curry with shrimp, basil chicken, Pad Thai, stir fried vegetables, and coconut rice I picked up. Way too much food for two people, but I always overshoot.

Brooke snags a spring roll, placing it on her plate. "Oh my god, this looks so good."

"Best place in LA." I grab two forks out of the cutlery drawer, handing one to her. Our fingers brush as she takes it from my hand, and the contact, combined with the familiarity between us, throws me for a second.

Given the choice, I'd almost always rather be alone. Aside from my closest friends—and possibly my brother, when he isn't being a fucking idiot—most people begin to wear on my nerves shockingly fast. That isn't the case with Brooke; even when we butt heads, I still enjoy it. But these small moments are even better.

And I can't deny I'll sleep better at night knowing there's no one else in the picture.

Suck it, Nolan.

My secret gloating is short-lived, though. As reality sinks in, my buzz is hampered by an undercurrent of uneasiness that has nothing to do with Brooke and everything do with me. While things between have been nearly perfect so far, a small part of me is convinced I'm going to fuck this up.

Maybe a not-so-small part, if I'm being honest.

If I do, I risk ruining a decade-long friendship in the process. The stakes are pretty fucking high, but I'm still here—because the payoff could be even higher.

We bring our plates to her small, round wooden table and head back into the kitchen to grab drinks.

"Can you grab a bottle of wine, please?" Brooke gestures to the built-in wine fridge and turns away, pulling two glasses out of a different upper cabinet. "Corkscrew's in that drawer beside it, if you need it. I can't remember if any of those are screw top."

Deja vu hits me as I walk over and pull open the small dual-zone fridge, like countless times before when Brendan and I used to live here. I remember him buying this when he got his job at the firm.

I pick up the bottles one at a time, studying the labels, and find there are a couple decent options to choose from. I'd pick the Pinot Noir, but I'm pretty sure Brooke would rather have the Pinot Grigio.

I hold both of the bottles up to illustrate. "Pinot Noir or Pinot Grigio?" I'm not the biggest fan of white wine, but I can't shake my guilt over bailing on her for Josh earlier, so I'll suck it up and drink it if that's what she wants.

"I've never seen you drink white wine a single day in your life."

Busted.

"It's your call."

She gives me a wry smile. "Open the red, Dean."

Brooke sets the glasses on the table and sinks into her seat while I pour her a glass of wine, handing it to her. Then I pour my own and sit down beside her. The ruby liquid sloshes as she brings the glass to her lips, taking a sip.

She sets her glass back down and picks up her fork, stopping short before she takes a bite of Pad Thai. "Before I forget, Brendan is going to come to the florist with me on Thursday. He said he can get away from work for a little while, so you're off the hook. Unless you want to come with us." Her eyes shine playfully. "I'm sure you're really into flowers."

I like flowers about as much as Brooke enjoys watching sports. Which is to say, I'd rather watch paint dry than pick out floral arrangements. Plus, being around Brooke and Brendan at the same time is bound to be more than a little awkward. It's also inevitable, but I'd like to delay it as long as possible.

Then again, that doesn't bode well for the upcoming joint bachelor-bachelorette party. Maybe we'll tell Brendan by then. We're going to have to before it gets out anyway and blows up in our faces. Brooke and I should probably talk about that, but I'm not eager to rock the boat after we already made one leap tonight.

"As much as I'm dying to go look at roses and daisies, I think I'll leave that task for you two, if you don't mind. It can be brother-sister bonding time." I take a bite of Pad Thai, raising my eyebrows.

"Maybe you and I could do something after Brendan and I finish." She looks hopeful, maybe a little bit nervous, and it does something to me inside I can't even identify.

"Thursday night is poker night, but my evenings are open besides that. I was thinking sooner than Thursday, anyway."

"Speaking of poker, could you teach me how to play?" Brooke brushes my foot with hers. "Maybe then we could play strip poker."

This sounds like a great idea in theory, but it hits a sore spot I didn't even know I had. Despite harnessing my best efforts to prevent myself from reacting, I stiffen. It's reflexive. Instinctual. And obvious.

When I don't respond after a second, she bristles. "Do you not think I'd be able to learn?"

"It's not that. It's just..." I don't know how to respond without revealing things I'd rather not. I hate talking about this, and it's even more difficult with Brooke, because I care what she thinks.

"What? Is this some weird boys' club rule that you have, like you don't play with girls?"

"No." I take a bite of spring roll, chewing as slowly as possible before I swallow. "It's complicated."

"I've got time."

If this was anyone else, I'd shut down this line of questioning. It would be a hard-stop, slam-on the-brakes, we're-dropping-this response from me. I've done it before and I'm sure I'll do it again when it comes to Josh. Putting up the wall is the easiest response, but I don't want to do that with her.

Actually, I do want to. I just know I shouldn't.

"I taught my brother Josh how to play poker." Even the words are difficult to force out.

Brooke's impatience gives way to mild confusion. "Okay?"

"And he..." I trail off and suck in a breath, exhaling heavily. "Developed a gambling problem a few months later. He's been to rehab a couple of times, but it never seems to stick. That's where I was earlier—dealing with him."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. Brendan never said anything." Brooke's tone is soft, one I've never heard her use before. She studies my face, trying to piece together the subtext behind what I said, and realization flickers in her eyes. "Wait. You know that's not your fault, right?"

I shrug but say nothing, because despite what anyone else says, I'm pretty sure it is.

She frowns and sets down her fork, placing a cool hand on my arm. Somehow, it simultaneously comforts me while also making me feel worse. "You had no way of knowing that would happen, Dean."

Didn't I? I feel like I should have known.

"Anyway," I say, eager to move the conversation along. "I don't actually think you're going to go develop a gambling addiction or anything like that. Logically, I know that isn't true. I guess it just hit weird when you said it."

"I didn't mean to—"

"I can teach you. I mean, I'd like to teach you. It'll be fun, especially if there's stripping involved." I place a hand on her thigh and give it a squeeze. She shifts her weight, like the contact has her a little flustered. It has me more than a little flustered, and is rapidly taking my mind off the other, unpleasant topic at hand.

"That could definitely be arranged," she says, voice a little breathy.

"Plus," I add, "it's better you learn from me than Brendan. You want to learn how to play properly so you have a fighting chance at the table."

Brooke pinches my arm. "There's the good old Hollis ego."

"Always."

We lapse into silence for a few minutes, eating, but the silence is still comfortable. There's an ease to being around her that surprises me. Obviously I've known her for a long time, but we'd never really been one-on-one until New Year's.

Of my small handful of half-assed failed relationships, I never reached this level with any of them. If anything, it was the opposite; I got more and more restless over time until I reached the point of intolerable claustrophobia, and promptly cut the cord.

As scary as it is, it's also freeing that Brooke knows the truth. Hopefully, she'll understand when things arise again—and I'm sure they will because, Josh—that I'm not ditching her for no good reason.

Brooke downs a conspicuous gulp of wine that grabs my attention.

"If it makes you feel any better..." she trails off and looks down, pushing a few remaining grains of rice around her empty plate with her fork. "I didn't graduate from college."

What's this, now?

I glance up from my last forkful of basil chicken. "I'm sorry?" I'm working my poker face to the extreme, because I know letting on how shocked I am will upset her.

It's not that I care whether Brooke has a degree. It's that I distinctly remember her parents buying her a graduation present, and I am deeply confused.

She draws her bottom lip into her mouth, relasing it. "You told me something personal, so I'm telling you something personal in return. I didn't finish a handful of my core business classes, so I never got my degree. Nobody knows."

"Brendan doesn't know?" Though if he did, he sure as hell didn't mention it to me.

"No," she confirms. "Neither do any of my friends. Or my parents, obviously. I managed to get by without it until now, but now Jay is asking me for a copy of my degree, and I don't know what to tell him."

This probably explains why she seemed reluctant when I broached the coaching subject with her the other day. A pang of sympathy hits me, because this seems like a big secret to shoulder all alone. Especially for four years.

I can't believe Brendan doesn't know.

I can't believe she's telling me.

"Which classes?" I ask gently.

Brooke squirms in her seat, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, and her mouth scrunches up. "Accounting and finance."

This doesn't totally surprise me. Brooke is incredibly smart. Hell, she can run circles around me verbally half the time. But I know math has never been her forte. When she sent me back one of the wedding spreadsheets yesterday, it contained several mathematical errors—and that was with formulas in the cells doing the work for her. That may have partly been her not paying attention, too. Either way, now I know to double-check her work.

"I could help you with those. If you wanted, I mean."

"I'm not sure you can. I failed finance. Twice. And not for lack of trying. I even attended the extra tutorials for help."

A wobbly frown emerges on her face and another pang of sympathy hits me, this one right in the gut. It's an emotion I rarely ever feel. Josh's problems are largely self-inflicted, or arguably my fault, and my feelings toward them are more of a grudging resignation to bailing him out. But with Brooke, it tears me up a little to see her like this.

I set down my fork and take her hand, earning a forced half-smile in return.

"Look, we really need coaches. I know it's not a dealbreaker, job-wise. Jay will understand. I can talk to him for you, if you'd prefer."

Brooke's eyes widen to the size of the empty dinner plates in front of us. "But Brendan—"

"It's an HR matter. Jay's not going to blab about that to Brendan. It doesn't concern him."

"Are you sure?" Her expression is somewhere between hope and skepticism.

"Positive," I tell her. "But it sucks for your career options to be limited because of a handful of classes. Why don't you give one class a try, and let me help you? See how it goes."

I'm trying my hardest not to push her, but I hope she'll say yes.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and she looks at me with a deer-in-headlights expression. "I don't know...I'm not good at math. I've always struggled with it. It could be a lost cause."

"Maybe you just need it explained to you differently." In a way, it reminds me of Josh, though the areas they struggle with are different. With him, it's letters and reading. At any rate, I'm used to it, and I can be surprisingly patient when I want to be.

"Can I think about it?"

"Of course."

We clear our plates and put the rest of the food in her fridge before heading into the living room. I sink down onto her leather couch and pull Brooke closer.

Her perfume drifts over to me, mingled with the scent of her shampoo and something else that's just uniquely her. I begin to run my fingers through her hair and she lets out a cute little groan of appreciation.

When I lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head, it hits me that I'm in really fucking deep all of a sudden. And I don't even know how or when it happened.

Fuck me. We have to tell Brendan.

She grabs the remote and switches on the TV, surfing through the options. "What do you want to watch?"

"I thought one of your conditions for my return was that you got to choose."

That's why I've been bracing myself all night for a cheesy romantic comedy or some terrible reality show. Brooke has good taste in lots of things, but television isn't one of them.

"That's right." She sets down the remote and pulls herself upright, turning to face me. "But I think we also said there would be more kissing after the food."

"That we did."

Her gaze falls to my mouth, lifting to meet my eyes, and my cock stirs like he's been summoned. Fortunately or unfortunately, he's reporting for duty.

Wordlessly, she gets onto her knees and crawls over my body so she's straddling me. My hands slide beneath her soft sweater again, gently gripping her waist.

I'm not entirely sure where this is headed—it may be straight to blue balls town—but I can roll with it.

Our eyes lock and she tilts her head, eyelids fluttering shut as she brings her soft lips to mine. At this point, we've kissed more times than I can count, but I've always initiated, or it's been mutual at most. I think this is the first time she's actually kissed me.

Adrenaline surging, I lean forward to close the distance. When our mouths come together, Brooke parts her lips with a sigh, granting me access. Her tongue brushes against mine and her fingertips dig into my shoulders, sending a bolt of desire rocking though me.

I cup her face and deepen the kiss, eliciting a sway of her hips. Her pelvis grinds against my half-erection and we both let out a low groan. It hasn't even been that long since we've had sex, but it feels like a fucking century.

It isn't rushed, though; it's decadent. Slow. Savoring. A perfect give and take, ask and answer. I could taste her all night and still be left wanting more.

Brooke sinks one hand into my hair, tugging at the roots, and sways her hips again. She's all over me, soft lips, supple curves and feminine little sounds. It's torture, but the best kind of torture.

I glide one hand lower, gripping her perky ass to guide her movements, while my other hand smooths up her ribcage, palming her breast over her lacy bra. A needy sound escapes her lips, a sound that I know well by now. I start to slide up her sweater so I can pull it off, and then I catch myself, stopping short.

Brooke pulls back, brows pulled together."What's wrong?" Her lips are kiss-swollen, eyes smoky.

"I didn't—you said no sex."

"I guess I did..." she blinks slowly as if recalling. "But that was before we talked about things."

It's not just relief; it's more like winning the lottery.

"Are you sure?"

"More than sure." She dips her head and grazes my my jawline with her lips, planting a trail of hot, wet kisses along my neck, traveling lower. Her hands find the hem of my shirt, fingers caressing it, and then she moves down to my waistband, tugging. "I think you should take this off. Actually, you should take everything off."

Like it was ever going to stick.