Calmly, Carefully, Completely (The Reed Brothers 3)

She looks so unsure of herself that I can tell this is hard for her. She doesn’t like asking. And she wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important to her. “Not with your parents downstairs,” I murmur.

“I don’t mean now,” she says with a blow of her breath.

“Oh.” Wishful thinking and all that.

She laughs. “Another time?” she asks. “When my parents aren’t within thirty feet of us?”

I nod. Shit. What did I just get myself into?

I hear a door slam nearby, and I lift myself off her. She closes her legs and sits up, pulling my sweatshirt down around her hips. But all I can think about is how soft her skin feels under my fingertips and how much I want to touch her. But there are footsteps coming up the stairs. I call the dog, and she hops up into my lap. Thank God.

The whisper of footsteps against the carpet is the only warning before her dad stops in her doorway. “What are you doing?” he barks. His eyes land on me, and then on the dog, and then he meets my gaze. I smile at him. But I have to break eye contact after a moment. I was just on top of his daughter, after all.

“Talking,” Reagan chirps. She scratches the back of her head. “Did you need something?”

“Your mom and I are going to rent a movie. Do you want to watch it?”

“Can Pete come?” she asks. He glares at me, and I focus all my attention on the dog.

He nods. “If he must,” he says drolly. I have to admit it—if I had a dad, I’d want him to act just like Mr. Caster. I’d want him to try to protect me over all else and care about me more than anything. I don’t have that, at least not from a dad. I have it from my brothers. But it’s not the same.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Reagan asks quietly. But she’s smiling. I notice she doesn’t get up.

I nod. “Sure.”

She looks at her dad. “Ten minutes?” she asks.

He nods, glares at me for a second longer, and then leaves. “Your dad is pretty awesome, you know that?” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes.

“If I had a dad, I would want him to act just like that.” I avoid her gaze this time. Because I don’t want her to see too much. She already sees enough.

“Your brother, the one you don’t talk to,” she starts. “Does he have a phone in his dorm?”

I nod. He has a cell phone that Paul got for him since he was going away. Paul got one, too. I know Sam’s number by heart, even though I’ve never called it. I have dialed it a million times, and then I hang up the phone because I’m a chickenshit. She holds her phone out to me. “It’s time to call him, Pete,” she says. Then she picks up a pair of jeans, pulls them up her legs while I watch. It’s so f**king hot watching her dress that I get all turned on again. She bends over and kisses me really quickly. “I’m going to make popcorn. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

She leaves me and closes the door behind her. I look down at the phone. When I stopped talking to Sam, I felt like I lost a piece of myself. Maybe it’s time to find it. I dial the number and lift the phone to my ear and my heart is beating even faster now than it did when I was on top of Reagan.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

His voicemail picks up. “This is Sam. I’m busy, so leave a message and I’ll call you back if I feel like it.” The beep sounds, and I hesitate. I can’t help it. Then I clear my throat. This is the time for new beginnings. And I can’t find out if he wants one or not unless he’ll talk to me.

“Sam, it’s Pete.” I stop and think, burying my forehead in my hand. “I just wanted to talk to you and be sure you’re doing all right. I miss you, Sam. That’s all. I just miss you.” I heave a sigh. Because I don’t know what else to say. “Sam, do you think you could come home this weekend? I want to see you. I’m on a friend’s phone so you can’t call me back, but I wish you could… I really, really wish you could. I love you, Sam. Just wanted to say that.”

I press the “end” button and stare at the phone. I pretty much bungled that. But I feel lighter now. I’m glad I called him. I miss him. Like crazy.

I tuck Reagan’s phone in my pocket and go downstairs. I find her in the kitchen pouring popcorn into a bowl. She throws a piece at me when I get close, and I catch it in my mouth. She laughs and hitches her hip against the counter. “Did you make your call?” she asks.

Her phone buzzes in my pocket. “I think you’re getting a text,” I say as I pass it back to her. I want to be nosy and look down at it. She glances at it and grins.

“I think it’s for you,” she says. “Is that the number you called?” She shows me the screen. It’s Sam’s number, and he just wrote:

I love you better.

I grin. “Yeah. That’s Sam.”

“Sam?” she asks. Her brow furrows. She points to the back of her neck. “The Sam on your neck? That’s for your brother?”

“Yeah. Our dad put the tattoos on us because he never could tell us apart.”

She frowns. “Then why does yours say Sam?”

I grin and shrug. “He couldn’t tell us apart, so when he sat Sam down for his tattoo, he said he was Pete, and I said I was Sam. So, we have each other’s names on our necks.”

“He couldn’t tell you guys apart?” She’s not laughing anymore, and she looks kind of sad.