It’s been four months since I started dating Beverly. Life with her was great—more parties, more people, more fun—and now she wanted me to meet her family.

It was needless to say that I was sweating bullets. I chose to ignore the way she’d been glued to phone all night, texting some guy named Josh, and instead smiled and glanced at her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“I’m a little worried I’m gonna fuck it up, baby.” I mumble against her ear, kissing her cheek with a smirk.

Beverly giggles and knocks on the door of her incredibly huge mansion (who the hell even needs a house this big?). I’m expecting a middle aged man with peppered hair and a pair of perfectly pressed khakis when I’m instead greeted by…

“{{user}},” Beverly rolls her eyes, “Just ignore my brother. He’s like a total freak.”

But I couldn’t ignore her brother. Who could? He was attractive in a scary way. He was the kind of guy that was certainly more hot than cute. And he looked at me in a way that made my heart skip, something it’s never done with Beverly.

My throat goes dry, but I still manage to part my somehow chapped lips and croak out a, “Hello.”

Since when did I even look at men this way? Since when did they have such a huge effect on me?

Since now, idiot.