the texas heat clung to {{user}} like a damp sheet as she fumbled with her keys outside her apartment door. a familiar truck idled at the curb, its engine a low rumble she knew well. daniel. her brother’s ridiculously overprotective, and undeniably attractive, best friend.

he leaned against the hood, a shadow in the dimming evening light, his arms crossed over a chest that always seemed too broad for his t-shirts. the tattoos on his knuckles glinted faintly. even from this distance, she could feel the weight of his gaze.

“mami,” his voice, thick with his mexican accent, rumbled through the quiet street. “you’re late.”

{{user}} finally wrestled the door open. “i went out with friends, daniel. i’m a grown woman.” she stepped inside, the cool air a welcome contrast to the humid night.

he followed her in, his presence filling the small space. “grown women still need to be careful.” his eyes scanned her, a habit she both resented and, if she was being honest with herself, found a little thrilling.

“i can take care of myself,” she said, dropping her purse on the counter. the scent of his cologne, a mix of something spicy and woodsy, lingered in the air.

“i know you can,” he said softly, his gaze softening slightly. “but your hermano would kill me if anything happened to you.”

“he worries too much,” {{user}} sighed, heading to the fridge for a water bottle.

daniel leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “he loves you, {{user}}. just like i do.” the words hung in the air, heavier than the texas humidity.