James Knight: Teenage Superhuman - B2

Twenty-Two

DISCLAIMER ⚠️: The following scene contains mature content and may not be suitable for all readers. If you prefer to skip explicit sexual content, intense kissing, or suggestive scenes, please move on to the next chapter. However, this chapter may be essential for the storyline. A recap will be provided for the next episode. Thank you.

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NOAH

Bryce sat cross-legged on James's bed while I hovered above my own mattress, lazily bouncing a rubber ball against the ceiling. It thudded in a steady rhythm, the kind that helped me think.

"Now that Claire, Shawn, and the cousins know about our powers," Bryce said, watching the ball rebound, "what's actually bothering you, Noah?"

I didn't answer right away. Instead, I rolled in the air and faced him.

"You're spending too much time with Mark."

He scoffed. "You jealous?"

"We're twins, mate—and I'm the older one." I grimaced. "Besides, I know you slept with him. I had to see it."

I rolled onto my back, forming an air cushion beneath me like a floating mattress.

Bryce blinked. "How do you know?"

I tapped my temple twice. He knew exactly what I meant.

"You miss Hunter," I said.

"I do not," he snapped. "I love Mark."

"Twin intuition," I replied evenly. "And I've seen enough of what you get up to. Not that it's something I ever wanted burned into my brain."

Silence stretched between us.

"What the hell, dude?" Bryce finally yelled.

I shrugged. "What? You don't have that ability?"

His eyes dropped to the floor. He groaned.

"Yeah," he muttered. "But I don't go around announcing that I've accidentally seen you in compromising situations."

I smirked. Good boy.

"What about Sarah?" he asked suddenly.

The name hit harder than I expected. A low growl slipped out before I could stop it.

"Oh, screw off," I said. "I wasn't bragging. We were thirteen. She nearly drowned. I saved her life."

Bryce lifted an eyebrow. "And now she lives next door."

"No shit." I floated higher, folding my hands behind my head, drifting comfortably like Peter Pan. "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

Bryce sighed and shifted on the bed. "Not sure. Dad always plans a big dinner. It never works out. We end up ordering takeout."

"What, did you overcook the turkey with heat vision?" I teased.

He shot me a glare. I grinned.

I sighed. "Why don't you and Dex come here? It's not much different. You'll have everyone. Including me."

"I'll ask him," Bryce said. "Maybe."

"For heaven's sake, just come over for Thanksgiving," I snapped. "It's not a big deal."

He didn't rise to it. Just smiled faintly.

"Maybe," he repeated.

I exhaled and stared up at the ceiling, letting the ball drop into my hand. Bryce had always been like this—calm, careful, hard to read. Brilliant, really. Too polite to be fooled, which made him difficult to reach sometimes.