"Is Brendon moody and annoying?"
"Well... Not to me. Not usually."
Emma rolls her eyes. "I don't know what you see in him."
"He's your brother." When that fails to get a reaction, I press on. "He let me move here. He bought me a room full of furniture."
"I thought we agreed to stop talking about that."
We did. I couldn't take anymore of Emma getting mad on my behalf. "He's hot, Em. Even you can see that."
"I guess it runs in the family."
I laugh. "Humble as always."
I move into the kitchen before she can press the subject further. There's way, way too much I see in Brendon.
His eyes.
His smile—the rare times I get it.
That protective stare.
Those strong shoulders.
The tattoo spreading over his chest.
The other going down his arm.
That look he gives me when I'm sitting on the couch, when he asks if I'm reading something good.
Just... everything.
I let my head fill with thoughts as I make another cup of vanilla black, stir in enough honey for the drink to taste sweet, grab enough chocolate for both of us. Enough for my thoughts to turn to the bliss of the cocoa bean instead of the bliss of Brendon.
God, I have it bad.
There's no getting over him. Not with those drawings of his in my mind. Not with the way his eyes lit up when I mentioned dirty demands.
He wants me too.
How will I ever think about another guy?
I move back to the couch, hand over Emma's chocolate, settle in.
We get lost in the flow of the movie-talk about nothing combination. It's familiar. Comforting.
It feels like this is a normal lazy summer day. One where I'm sleeping over because I want to, not because my parents bailed on me. One where I look at Brendan as Emma's hot older brother, a guy so far out of my league we're playing different games. One where Grandma is okay.
Everything else feels far away. It's just me and my best friend in our own world. I'm not alone. I'm not medicated. I'm not aware Brendon's sketchbook is full of dirty drawings of me.
I'm just home. Safe. Happy.
"Hey." Brendon's voice flows into my ears. He moves into the hallway. Then down the stairs.
He's wet. Fresh from the shower. Wrapped only in a towel.
I... he... Fuck.