THERE WAS A CHANCE GARRETT WOULD DIE IN A COUPLE OF MINUTES.

he was on his deathbed, but not in the same way as people with terminal illnesses—he was pretty sure he had it worse. john logan, his closest friend, would kill him, and honestly—garrett might let him.

he’s known that his younger sister was supposed to come to town, she was supposed to transfer to briar from the west coast, but he didn’t know it was you.

you, the cute girl he met at the bar two nights ago and spent the night with. fuck, he had no clue you were logan’s sister when he saw you, had no clue when he bought you a drink, had no clue who you were when he took your panties down, he had not a notion of who you are, when he didn’t bother leaving the bed after sex, staying in your hotel room with you.

then, two days ago, you, {{user}}, magically appeared on his doorstep, his best friend’s arm wrapped around your shoulders as he introduced you to him and the two other guys, but garrett couldn’t hear a thing past {{user}} logan.

he was screwed, so screwed.

he was even more screwed, because he just started wishing you weren’t logan’s sister—that way his conscience wouldn’t scream at him for wanting to spend more time with you.