Carl is a flirt

Jake came back from his phone call and liberated me from that question. What kind of question was that?

I could still hear the echo of Carl's voice in my head—"Do you like Jake?"—and the way he stared, as though he was dissecting every layer of my being, peeling back skin to expose truth.

Jake came at the perfect time, a salvation I didn't know I needed. Sliding his phone into his back pocket with a casual confidence that made it hard to ignore him. But today, strangely, I wasn't looking at Jake the way I usually did. My eyes kept darting to Carl instead—his strong jaw, the scar just beneath his ear, the smooth arch of his brow as he turned to acknowledge Jake.

"I'm back," Jake said, then turned his attention to me. "Hey, Sid, can you bring out that champagne Anne told you about?"

He didn't even wait for an answer before flopping back into the seat across from Carl, already re-immersed in whatever boyish conversation they'd been having before.

I nodded. "Of course."

I headed straight to the wine cabinet, fingers trembling slightly. Every step I took felt exaggerated, like the floor beneath me was watching too. I found the bottle—gold label, imported, probably stupid expensive—and grabbed two fluted glasses from the side shelf.

Back in the dining room, the conversation between Carl and Jake had taken a turn.

"So anyway," Jake was saying, "she sends me a voice note, crying—literally crying—because I left her on read. I was on a mission. Like, does she want me dead?"

Carl chuckled, leaning back in his chair, legs casually crossed, fingers playing with the stem of his glass. "That's what happens when you mix soft girls with hard lives."

I set the glasses down, poured the champagne with steady hands. They barely noticed me—at first.

Carl tilted his glass slightly toward me in gratitude. "Thanks, Sidney."

The way he said my name, slow and smooth, was almost a whisper. I nodded, offering a polite smile. That's when I caught him staring—again. His eyes weren't moving from my chest, and he wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it.

I swallowed. Hard.

I was wearing what I picked specifically because I wanted to seduce Jake. Now it was Carl's gaze drinking it in like it was the only thing on the menu.

I turned my face quickly, trying to hold onto the last sliver of dignity, but a traitorous part of me… liked it.

That was the part that bothered me most.

Jake smirked. "You okay, Sid?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. "I'll bring out the shrimp plate."

He nodded, already turning to Carl. "You gotta hear this. Remember Tracy from bootcamp?"

I darted away to the kitchen like it was a lifeboat. Once inside, I leaned on the counter, palms flat, heart racing.

What was I doing?

Why was Carl suddenly occupying every square inch of my brain when I had practically built a shrine for Jake over the last year? And worse—why did I want Carl to look again?

I shook myself and grabbed the shrimp plate, carefully garnished with avocado slices and lemon wedges. The aroma was rich—paprika, garlic, and butter—all carefully crafted because I wanted Jake to remember the taste of me.

Instead, I was thinking about Carl's voice.

Back in the dining room, they were still chatting away. "...I told her, if you're looking for a ring, check your cereal box," Carl said, causing both of them to burst into laughter.

Boys.

I set the shrimp down gently, silently hoping they'd at least compliment the food. Carl looked at the platter and whistled.

"Damn," he said. "Did you make this?"

I nodded, eyes avoiding his.

He popped a shrimp into his mouth and moaned. Actually moaned. "Wow. You trying to trap a man, Sidney?"

Jake laughed. "She probably already has. She's good like that."

Carl's eyes flicked to me again, slower this time. "Yeah. She's very... good."

I turned around before I melted into a puddle. As I began collecting the dirty dishes from earlier, Carl said something that made the entire air shift.

"Your sister's really trying to hit on me, you know?"

Jake scoffed. "Anne? Please. She flirts with the wind."

Carl smirked. "Yeah, but she's been texting me. Sent me a selfie last night."

I froze with a plate in my hand.

"Wait, what?" Jake leaned forward, intrigued. "Did she seriously do that?"

"Yep. Said I had 'good soldier energy.' Whatever the hell that means."

Jake shook his head, laughing. "Man. She's ridiculous."

Something in Jake's face hardened for a second. I caught it before I turned to leave. There was more beneath that conversation—something layered and quiet, a pact not spoken aloud. Whatever it was, Anne wasn't part of it.

I headed back into the kitchen, heart still thudding.

As I was rinsing the glasses, I felt someone behind me before I even heard him move.

Carl.

He came into the kitchen without a word and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Watching.

"Need help with the dishes?" he asked.

I didn't turn. "I've got it, thanks."

"You always this polite, or just with guests?"

I paused and turned slightly. "I'm always polite. It's part of my job."

He raised a brow. "I don't think it's your job to look that good while doing it."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Carl hesitated, then smiled. "Let's just say I expected you to be... more plain."

"Plain?"

He laughed. "You're anything but."

I looked away, chest rising a little too fast.

And then I made the mistake of glancing over.

Our eyes met.

He didn't flinch. He just held my gaze, soft, warm, completely sure of himself. Like he already knew the answer to every question I hadn't asked yet.

I blinked rapidly and reached to keep a plate up in the shelve. That's when his fingers brushed mine. "you should learn to ask for help" he helped me place the plate and grabbed my hands.

He is flirting with me, and I'm not imagining things this time around.

My fingers were wet. His were dry. His grip was warm—strong—but strangely gentle.

All I could think was, Why are his hands so soft?

Isn't he supposed to be a soldier?

He gave me one last side smile, "Can I get more of that chocolate cake?"

"Yes" I responded immediately and watched him leave.