The house smelled like summer—freshly cut grass drifting in from the open windows, faint traces of sunscreen and beer from my brother's friends who had been in and out all afternoon. I wasn't supposed to be here, not really. I had promised myself that moving back home for the summer after graduation was temporary, a pit stop before real life began.
But then he walked in.
Ethan Carter. My brother's best friend.
He wasn't supposed to look like that. Not after all these years. Not after growing up together, running around barefoot in the backyard, sneaking sodas from the fridge when my parents weren't home. He had always been part of the scenery of my childhood—messy hair, crooked grin, the boy who teased me until I cried and then handed me a popsicle as an apology.
But the man standing in the doorway of our kitchen was different. Taller. Broader. His shoulders filled out the faded gray t-shirt clinging to him, damp from the afternoon heat. His jaw was sharper, rough with stubble, his hair a little too long like he hadn't cared enough to get it cut. And his eyes—God, those eyes—still the same stormy gray, but when they landed on me, something in my stomach dipped and twisted.
"Didn't know you were back in town," Ethan said, his voice deeper than I remembered.
I swallowed, trying to ignore the fact that I'd been staring too long. "Surprise," I managed, though my voice was thinner than I liked.
He smirked, leaning a hip against the counter, too close, too casual. The movement drew my gaze down, and before I could stop myself, I noticed how the fabric of his jeans clung low on his hips. Heat crawled up my neck.
This was wrong. He was my brother's best friend. Off-limits. Unattainable.
And yet my body didn't seem to care.
"You grew up," he said after a beat, and the way he let the words linger made my pulse kick. His eyes swept over me, not the polite glance of someone who knew me as a kid, but slower, heavier. Like he was cataloguing everything that had changed.
"I guess we both did," I shot back, trying for steady, but my hands curled around the edge of the counter to keep them from trembling.
From the living room, I heard my brother's laughter, the sound of a beer can cracking open. He had no idea that just a few feet away, I was standing on the edge of something dangerous. Something I couldn't name but already wanted.
Ethan leaned closer, his arm brushing mine as he reached past me for a glass. The contact was casual, probably innocent—but it jolted through me like static. I inhaled sharply, and I knew he noticed because that smirk tugged at his mouth again.
"Still steal the last popsicle if no one's looking?" he asked, his tone teasing, but lower, rougher.
I bit my lip, fighting the urge to step back—or closer. "Only if it's cherry."
The silence that followed stretched, thick with unspoken things. My brother's voice carried in from the other room, a reminder that we weren't alone, that this—whatever this was—was dangerous. Forbidden.
And maybe that was why I didn't move when Ethan's hand brushed against mine on the counter. It was deliberate this time, not an accident. His knuckles grazing my skin, slow and lingering. My breath caught, my chest tightening with something I shouldn't be feeling.
His eyes locked on mine, gray and unreadable, and for a moment it felt like the rest of the house had gone quiet.
Then, from the living room, my brother called out his name.
Ethan pulled back first, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Guess I should go rescue him before he does something stupid."
I nodded, but my throat was too dry for words. I watched him leave, every step pulling him farther away, leaving me pressed against the counter with my heart racing and my skin still tingling where he'd touched me.
For the first time in years, I didn't feel like the little sister tagging along.
I felt like a woman staring at a man she could never have.
And God help me, I wanted him anyway.
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