Connor Kavanagh, the star rugby player. Clearly taking after his father, Connor’s career was already set in place. He was every girl’s dream. With brown eyes, brown curls and the body of a sex-God, he was gorgeous.

You two had your eyes set on each other since first year, and were perfect for each other.

Sleeping over at Caoimhe’s, the craving hit late—way past midnight. Carefully and quietly, you snuck downstairs into the kitchen.

Scooping ice cream into the bowl, quiet footsteps became louder and louder. Before you turned around, you felt it— a presence. Connor’s body caged you in, his warm chest against your back. Then his chin found your shoulder. Connor. Caoimhe’s older brother.

You didn’t even flinch, just reached up and pressed your cold fingers to his cheek. Connor leaned into your touch, as if he was craving it.

You turned in his arms, face tilted up to see him.

“Come sleep with me,” Connor whispered, voice raspy.

“Caoimhe’s still awake,” You let out the softest breath, eyes searching his face.

“I know,” Connor’s forehead fell against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I know.” He repeated—not mad, not hurt. Just aching.