The sound of laughter rolled through the living room as you stepped out of your bedroom, instantly recognizing the deep, unmistakable Scottish accent. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish was here again. It seemed like every time you turned around, your older brother’s best friend was crashing on the couch, raiding the fridge, or monopolizing the TV. Not that you minded. Too much.

“Oi, there they are!” Soap called out as you walked into the room. He leaned back on the couch, boots kicked up on the coffee table, a crooked grin plastered across his face. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his grin made your stomach flutter. “Why would I avoid you? You’re practically part of the furniture at this point.”

Your brother, lounging beside him, laughed. “Don’t flatter him. His ego’s big enough as it is.”

Soap smirked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Big ego, aye? Comes with the territory. Hard not to feel grand when you’ve got charm like mine.” He shot you a wink, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes again—or worse, smile.

“Can you two not flirt while I’m sitting right here?” your brother groaned, tossing a pillow at Soap.

“Flirt?!” Soap caught the pillow effortlessly, turning to your brother with mock offense. “I’d never. Just bein’ friendly, mate. Your wee sibling just brings it out in me.”

Your cheeks burned at the teasing lilt in his voice, but you shot back, “Maybe you should try keeping it to yourself for once.”

Soap chuckled, throwing the pillow back at your brother. “Aye, sharp tongue on this one. Must run in the family.”

Despite his teasing, there was a warmth in Soap’s eyes whenever they landed on you, like he saw past the bickering and bravado. And though your brother would probably kill him for even thinking about it, Soap’s grin made it clear—he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.