I should’ve felt some sort of satisfaction when I woke up

But I didn’t

I’d had a best friend since we were like five, our families knew and loved each other and all that shit

But eventually

Kayla and I had a fallout when she decided that fucking my boyfriend was a good idea

So waking up next to her little brother —mind you, he’s overage, i’m not some creep— should feel like some sort of sick revenge you know?

But it doesn’t

lie there staring at the ceiling, his bedroom still dark except for that thin stripe of orange morning light cutting through the curtains.

And all I can think is:

Well. That was fucking stupid.

He’s asleep beside me, all messy curls and slow breathing, one arm slung across my waist.

And he looks way too fucking good, biceps flexing when he moves, defined abs and the sheets resting dangerously low on his hips

I carefully lift his arm off me and sit up, dragging the sheet with me out of pure instinct, even though he’s already seen every inch of me at this point.

My head’s pounding.

Not from drink.

From the reality of what I’ve done.

Because out of every stupid, reckless thing I could’ve done after finding out about Kayla and my ex, this was probably sitting right at the fucking top of the list.

Sleep with her little brother.

Brilliant.

Absolutely mature behaviour.

I scrub a hand over my face and glance back at him.

Still asleep.

Still unfairly attractive.

And the worst part?

He doesn’t look like some lad who finally got with the girl he fancied.

He just looks… peaceful.

Like this actually meant something.

That thought makes my stomach twist.

I swing my legs off the bed quietly, hunting around the floor for my clothes, wincing when I spot my bra hanging off his desk lamp.

Jesus Christ.

The memories come back in flashes that make my cheeks burn.

His hands on my hips.

That cocky grin disappearing the second things got serious.

The way he kept looking at me like he was trying to memorise my face instead of just trying to get me naked.

“You’re sneaking out then?”

His voice is rough with sleep behind me.

I freeze halfway through pulling my top over my head.

Slowly, I turn around.

He’s awake now, curls flattened on one side, eyes heavy and half-lidded as he watches me from the bed.

And annoyingly, somehow, he still looks gorgeous.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” I mutter.

“Mhm.”

“I just… have things to do.”

“At seven in the morning?”

“Some people have lives, {{user}}.”

That lazy grin spreads across his face at that, only to fall when Kayla’s voice rings just outside the door

I freeze so hard I stop breathing.

“Mam said you better not still be asleep or she’s pouring water on you!”

My entire body goes cold.

He, meanwhile, just sighs into his pillow like this is a mild inconvenience instead of the absolute social apocalypse currently unfolding in his bedroom.

“Ignore her,” he mumbles.

“Ignore—?” I hiss “Your sister is right outside the fucking door.”

“Yeah, she usually is. We share a house.”

A grin threatens at the corner of his mouth.

I could actually kill him.

Kayla rattles the handle lazily.

“Oi, are you alive in there?”

He pushes himself upright, sheets slipping lower on his hips, completely unbothered

“Busy,” he calls out casually.

“Oh my God,” Kayla groans from the hallway. “That is disgusting. Some of us eat breakfast, you freak.”

His eyes flick back to me, amused now.

Mine are wide with terror.

Because she doesn’t know.

Not yet.

And if she opens that door, she absolutely fucking will.

He laughs quietly, rubbing a hand over his face before finally looking at me properly.

And there it is again.

That look.

Not smug.

Not guilty.

Just… soft.

Like he’s still thinking about last night.

Like he’s glad it happened.

Which is deeply inconvenient for me emotionally.

Kayla bangs the door once more.

“Tell mystery girl she left her boots downstairs!”

I close my eyes.

Fuck.

Absolute fucking fuck.

Because those boots are unmistakably mine