Running Parallel

Part 7 - Connor

 The second I park Luke's car in the garage and hop out, I shed my hoodie. Outside, the doors to my car slam shut as Caleb and the others get out.

My hoodie is still damp from the rain and crusted in mud, hanging heavy in my hands. My jeans aren't much better, but I'm not about to lose them with Luke and his brother around. I want a shower; my skin is crawling, my hair is sticking to my head.

Outside, the rain pours down in sheets, drowning our driveway in puddles. Through the open garage door, I watch the others run up the back steps and disappear inside the house. Lights in the kitchen come on, shining bright and warm.

I lock Luke's car and step out into the storm, flinching as thunder crashes overhead. With shaking hands, I reach up and pull the door down, protecting the inside from the water coming in. I click the lock shut and hurry across the drive, dodging puddles and a garden hose Caleb forgot to put away.

In the kitchen, I'm greeted by Caleb's laughter. It comes from the living room, three pairs of shoes discarded next to the back door.

I kick off my sneakers and leave them with the others, muddy soles and all. My socks squelch with every step into the house, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind. Making for the stairs, Caleb's voice stops me in the hall.

"In here!" he calls, as if I didn't already guess that much.

With a heavy sigh, thoughts of a hot shower and warm dry clothes die before my eyes as I step into the living room. Caleb sits in the recliner by the window, shirtless, body stretched out as he leans back, feet kicked up on the footrest. Luke is sprawled on the sofa, legs spread wide, arms resting along the back, equally as shirtless. I force myself not to stare. Luke's brother sits cross legged on the floor in front of the couch, shirt clinging to his thin frame, petting our cat, Leo.

The TV is on, displaying the Netflix guide.

"Shirtless club, unite!" Caleb yells, a grin stretching his cheeks as he pumps a fist in the air.

Luke snorts. His brother hunches his shoulders.

I'm not getting shirtless with you, I want to tell Caleb, the words caught in my throat. Normally, I don't have a problem with words around my brother, but it's the others that make me second-guess myself. Instead, I stand in place, hoodie hanging limp at my side. I sneak a glance at Luke.

His chest is wide, leading down to a narrow waist and slim hips, a V-shaped dip just above his jeans. A sparse strip of blonde hair disappears below his pants, the memory of running my fingers through it sharp and vivid. My fingers twitch at the phantom touch.

I jerk my gaze away.

"You look like a drowned rat," Caleb notes. From anyone else, I'd think he was making me the butt of a joke. I definitely feel like a drowned rat. The run from the garage to the house had only helped soak me to the bone. "Come join us."

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, still blocking the doorway to the room. On one hand, I don't have a great excuse ready for why this is a bad idea. On the other . . .

I glance at Luke, my face growing warm.

A drop of water trickles down my neck, and I reach up to scratch at it.

Caleb's mouth drops open, his eyes caught on something on my neck. "Bro, is that a hickey?"

I freeze. My body flashes hot.

The recliner drops back into the upright position as Caleb shoves to his feet, closing the space between us. Luke and his brother watch as Caleb pushes my hand aside and yanks my collar down. I hadn't realized the thin grey shirt had stretched out from being soaked, pulling low on my neck. The hickey Luke gave me the other night sits prominently on my throat, where my shoulder meets my neck. I noticed it this morning in the bathroom mirror, but had forgotten all about it.