You were sixteen, floating through junior year with perfect grades and a near-perfect life. Every weekend, sleepovers at Evie’s house were sacred—late-night movies, snacks, and endless laughter.

There was just one problem.

Her brother.

He was… something else. Funny, charming in a low-key way, and somehow devastatingly attractive without trying. He had that rare knack for teasing without ever crossing the line—playful, but never arrogant. And yes, the fact that he spent half his life shirtless at home didn’t exactly make your life easier.

One weekend, you and Evie were sprawled in her room, scrolling through phones and whispering jokes. Evie passed out in record time, leaving you alone.

Bored, you crept to the kitchen for a sandwich. The house was quiet—except for the subtle creak of the floor under your socks.

Then: hands on your waist.

Your heart slammed.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was teasing, calm, measured. Not arrogant, just… confident enough to make you swallow hard.

You spun, startled, and he raised his hands slightly, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Relax… I didn’t mean to scare you. Just thought… maybe you’d want a snack buddy.”

You blinked. “Uh… thanks.”

He tilted his head, playful but aware, eyes glinting. “You know… last time I helped Evie’s little disaster of a cat off the counter, I got a thank-you sandwich. Figure I might get the same treatment tonight.”

You groaned, half laughing, half mortified. “You are so stupid.”

“Only on weekends,” he said, softer now, letting the teasing fade into something warmer. “But it’s fun, right?”

And just like that, your pulse refused to calm. You were completely, utterly… screwed.