Her Brother’s Best Friend

The morning after

Cade:

Logan and I met in the hallway, moving slightly slower than usual. My body still hummed from last night—the chase, the chaos, and how Riley looked at me before I bolted. My chest was tight, pulse high, and every muscle still felt wound up.

We froze for a beat when we stepped fully into the house.

It was… clean. Impossibly clean. The usual chaos from the party was gone—no empty bottles, overturned chairs, confetti, or spilled drinks. The floors gleamed faintly, countertops spotless, and the scent of something warm and inviting drifted up the stairs and down the hall.

“Did… someone actually clean up?” Logan muttered, eyes wide, and I felt a rare flicker of amusement.

“Looks like it,” I said, my voice low, almost cautious. Something about the order made my chest tighten strangely. There was a sense of care here, of thoughtfulness—and I couldn’t ignore it.

The scent hit us stronger as we moved toward the kitchen: eggs, bacon, coffee… breakfast—fresh, hot, deliberate. My lips twitched. Someone had made breakfast for us.

I didn’t have time to process more before she came into view.

Riley. Sitting at the table, coffee in hand. I could see her still wrapped in the hoodie I’d left behind yesterday—messy hair, flushed cheeks—but her eyes… they widened at the exact wrong moment.

Because I was shirtless, and the sunlight caught every ridge and curve of muscle, the inked patterns stretching across my chest and arms, highlighting things that shouldn’t exist outside of dreams—or nightmares.

And then it happened.

She choked on her coffee.

Literally. Spitting and gagging, hands flying to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, panicked, flustered.

I had to fight not to laugh. Had to fight not to let my smirk widen into something predatory. The sight of her like this—utterly undone by me, betrayed by instinct—hit a nerve deep in my chest. That ache, that fire, that obsession… it flared hotter.

“Morning,” I said casually, though my voice betrayed nothing. I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look relaxed while my pulse went into overdrive. “You okay there?”

“F-fine,” she choked out, waving a shaky hand at me like she could erase the fact she’d just lost all composure over my bare chest.

Logan, the oblivious sidekick, started moving toward the counter, sniffing at the air like he didn’t even notice the tension vibrating through the room.

I flexed my shoulders in a slow, casual stretch, deliberately giving her something else to choke over. I watched her grip the mug, knuckles white, cheeks burning, eyes darting everywhere but at me. And somewhere inside, I felt that familiar pull that made me want to push, tease, provoke… to claim every reaction she couldn’t hide.

Breakfast smelled incredible, clean and warm, but I didn’t care about the eggs, the bacon, or coffee. All I cared about was her—the way she’d just betrayed herself, her body reacted, and her gaze kept flicking to me even as she tried to pretend she wasn’t.

She was mine, whether she knew it or not. And this… this morning, this small, perfect chaos, reminded me why I would never let her go.

I watched her fumble with her mug like it was a lifeline, and I couldn’t resist. Not really.

I leaned a little further against the counter, casual, relaxed—but every inch of me screamed danger. She tried to look away, eyes darting to the plate in front of her, but I could see the faint tremble in her hands, the flush creeping up her neck.

“Careful,” I said, voice low, teasing, letting my gaze wander over her just enough to make her shiver. “You might spill that coffee all over yourself.”

Her glare was sharp, but it did nothing to mask how her chest rose and fell, fast and shallow. “I’m fine,” she snapped, though her voice shook slightly.

“Sure you are,” I murmured, leaning back, flexing just enough to see her reaction in real time. The way her lips parted, even for a fraction of a second, told me she was anything but fine. And God, I wanted her undone. I wanted her to react to me like this—helpless, flustered, aware that I had her right where I wanted her.

Still blissfully oblivious, Logan poured himself coffee and muttered something about bacon being the only thing keeping him alive. I ignored him. My focus was entirely on Riley.

She set her mug down with too much force, sending a slight ripple through the coffee. Her fingers curled tightly around the handle, eyes narrowing. “You’re… impossible,” she muttered, almost a growl.

I smirked. “Maybe,” I said, voice low, deliberate. “But you like it.”

Her cheeks flamed hotter, and I could see the rapid pulse at her throat. She tried to keep her posture straight, to look stern and controlled, but it was useless. She was mine this morning, whether she admitted it or not. And watching her squirm, trying not to give anything away, made the ache in my chest roar to life.

I stepped closer, moving with that casual, lethal grace I knew drove her insane. “You know,” I said, leaning against the edge of the table just out of reach, “if you choke on coffee again, I might have to take responsibility.”

Her mug wobbled. She set it down again, breathing fast, eyes wide. “I—can you—stop?”

I chuckled, low and dangerous. “Stop what?”

“The… the staring. The teasing. The…” Her voice faltered.

I let a slow, wicked smile spread across my face. “The what?”

Her glare could have cut glass, and it made me laugh louder. “The… everything.”

That’s when I realized something dangerous: I didn’t want her to look away. I didn’t want her to recover her composure. Not yet. I wanted every twitch of her pulse, every sharp inhale, every flush of heat to be because of me.

Because she was mine.

And this… breakfast, the sunlight, the clean house, the way she tried to pretend she wasn’t reacting to me—it was perfect. A little war of wills that I intended to win, slowly, deliberately, until she couldn’t pretend anymore.

And maybe I just wanted her to beg me to stop… even as I refused.

I watched her flinch at my smirk and how I leaned close, and I felt that familiar fire pulse through me. I wanted to push her, tease her, watch her unravel—but then I saw the kitchen: spotless countertops, the smell of warm eggs and coffee curling in the air, the table set neatly.

The chaos of last night was gone. She’d done this—all of it.

I stepped back, giving her a fraction of space, and my voice dropped, low but genuine. “Hey… thanks,” I said, just enough to make her look up at me. “For cleaning up. For… breakfast.”

Her expression shifted, caught between relief and suspicion. She blinked at me, unsure if I was still teasing or actually being sincere.

Before she could answer, Logan’s voice cut in, muffled slightly by a mouthful of bacon. “Yeah,” he said, chewing, “thanks, sis.” He swallowed and nodded toward her, crumbs still clinging to his lips. “Really. This is… awesome.”

This time, Riley’s cheeks flushed with a different kind of warmth, and I caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes flicked up to mine, and the tension between us softened for a heartbeat.

I let my smirk linger faintly because I couldn’t resist entirely. But I kept my voice steady, sincere.

“You didn’t have to,” I said. “But… I appreciate it.”

She gave me a slight nod, still wrapped in the hoodie, still tense, but something had shifted. Breakfast was no longer just about teasing or the fire between us—it was about her. About the care she’d taken.

Logan, oblivious to the tension crackling between us, dug in with a grin, and I leaned against the counter, letting her breathe for a second, knowing full well this moment—small and domestic though it was—was as intimate and sharp as any night we’d spent together.