I’m pulling off my shirt, ready to join her, when there’s a knock at the door.
I freeze.
Nobody knocks on my door. Not this late.
Another knock. Louder this time.
I yank the door open, already half pissed off, ready to tell Hank or Clara or whoever the hell it is, to come back tomorrow.
Fuck. It’s not them.
It’s Jake.
Bree’s brother. My best friend.
Fuck.
His eyes narrow as he takes me in, shirtless, jeans unbuttoned. He’s not stupid. He knows what this looks like.
“Where is she?” Jake asks, voice tight.
My stomach twists. “She’s… here. Showering.”
His jaw twitches. “You going to invite me in, or we having this talk on the porch?”
I step aside. This is not how tonight was supposed to go.
Jake walks in, eyes sweeping over the cozy, lived-in state of the cabin. Bree’s stuff is everywhere. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.
“You sleeping with my sister?” he asks, an edge to his voice that makes it clear this isn’t just friendly curiosity.
I straighten up, squaring my shoulders. “Yeah.”
His eyes flash, and for a second, I think he’s going to swing. I almost hope he does, I could use the release. Then he stops.
“You promised, Scott. You promised you’d look out for her, not—”
“I am looking out for her,” I snap, stepping forward. “And I’m not fucking around with her. I care about her.”
He stares at me, breathing hard, fists clenching at his sides.
“You serious about this?” he demands.
Dead serious.
But before I can say it, Bree’s voice floats in from the hallway.
“Scott, have you seen my—”
She stops dead in her tracks.
Standing there in nothing but a towel, damp hair clinging to her shoulders, she freezes as she sees her brother. Her face goes pale, then bright red.
“Oh, shit,” she mutters.
Jake’s eyes narrow, looking between the two of us.
Bree’s gaze locks onto mine, wide and panicked.
