Her Brother’s Best Friend

Such a Beautiful Chaos

Riley:

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

I stood there, pinned to the wall by nothing but memory. My body still hummed with the ghost of his touch, every nerve ending lit up like a fuse that had burned straight down to the powder keg of my chest. Every inch of me ached, every breath seemed borrowed, shaky.

My throat was raw, aching from words I hadn’t said.

Don’t forget this moment, Riley.

As if I could.

I pressed both palms to my face, dragging in a shaky breath, but all I could smell was him—mint and leather, sharp and intoxicating, clinging to my skin as if he’d branded me. I turned toward the bed, instantly regretting it. Sheets tangled, pillows skewed, the air thick with Julie’s perfume and Cade’s heat. I could almost feel the imprint of his body against the mattress, the weight of his presence lingering even though he had already left.

I wanted to burn it all.

Instead, I dropped onto the mattress, curling forward until my forehead hit my knees. My heart beat a jagged rhythm, out of sync with the pounding bass downstairs. I should have been laughing at myself. Should have been furious at him. Should have been anything but this—this wreck of trembling hands, aching lungs, and jealousy I couldn’t shake.

Because the worst part wasn’t Julie. It wasn’t even Cade.

It was me.

I wanted him. In every ugly, selfish, desperate way a person could wish to someone. And he knew it. He loved knowing it. The knowledge was like a knife, twisting, precise, cutting into some hidden part of me I didn’t even know existed.

“God, what is wrong with me?” I muttered, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

The muffled roar of the party surged up the stairs, reminding me I wasn’t safe to fall apart here. Not in his room. Not where someone might come looking. Not where anyone could see me vulnerable in a way Cade would recognize.

I forced myself up, legs unsteady, and caught sight of my reflection in the mirror over his dresser. Mascara smudged. Hair a mess. Eyes red-rimmed. I looked exactly how I felt—wrecked, chaotic, spiraling, exposed.

Julie’s perfume still lingered in the air, teasing me, taunting me. It was impossible to ignore, the way it made the room feel alive with the memory of her and Cade, and the way it made my own want pulse like a living thing inside me.

Before I could think better of it, I grabbed one of Cade’s discarded hoodies from the floor, tugging it over my head like armor. It swallowed me whole, heavy and warm, and for a stupid second, I let myself pretend it was comfort, not evidence of how pathetic I was.

“Pull it together,” I whispered at my reflection.

I stared at myself for longer than I should have, trying to scrub away the raw need and anger that still clung to me like a second skin. Trying to remind myself that I wasn’t some toy to be toyed with. That I was supposed to be stronger. Smarter. Cooler.

Downstairs, someone cheered. A bottle shattered. Laughter followed. The noise carried up the stairs in waves, each one a reminder that the world kept moving, that nothing had stopped for me or for Cade.

The world was still spinning without me, demanding I keep up.

So I did what I always did: straightened my spine, scrubbed the tears from my cheeks, and shoved every raw, aching piece of myself back into a box no one would see.

By the time I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, I wore a smile sharp enough to cut.

Because if Cade thought I’d break for him, he had another thing coming.

Cade:

I needed air.

The second the door closed behind me, I bolted—past the crowd, down the hall, through the sliding doors, into the backyard. The cold night hit me like a fist to the chest, sharp and biting, but it did nothing to calm the chaos inside.

My lungs burned, heart hammering, and I couldn’t stop seeing her—the way she’d collapsed on the bed, smirking, eyes wide with mock innocence… while secretly daring me.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to punch a wall. I wanted her.

And in that instant, the truth slammed me harder than any rational thought ever could: she was just as twisted as I am.

Reckless, cunning, sharp-edged. Dangerous. Not in the way I could predict—no, in the way that made her unpredictable. Every word, every glance, every slight, calculated gesture was a challenge, and God, I loved it.

Panic clawed up my spine, making every muscle coil like a spring ready to snap. My chest tightened, a pressure building from my core to my jaw. I realized I couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk away from her. She’d seen me, stripped away my control without touching me, and left me raw, exposed, undone in a way no one else ever could.

The ache in my chest twisted into something darker, sharper. Not just desire. Not just want. Need. Obsession.

I wanted more.

Not just more of her body, though that part of me roared like wildfire. I wanted to prove it—to show her that I could push her as far as she pushed me, that I could twist her inside out the way she did to me with nothing more than a look. That she was chaos, but so was I—and together we could ignite a storm the world would never forget.

I flicked a cigarette into the grass, hand trembling. The cold night did nothing to steady me. The sky above me stretched black and infinite, and yet it felt suffocating, like it had shrunk down to the space between her eyes and mine.

I realized it then, with brutal clarity: she wasn’t just a girl I wanted to touch or conquer. She was the one person I could match, one person who could push back, who could play my game and not break under it. She was as dangerous as I was, and that terrified me.

And I wanted it.

I wanted her to fight back. To see the storm in my eyes and throw herself into it anyway. To be reckless, daring, wicked—and to dare me to follow.

Panic screamed in my chest. My chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths. Desire burned through the chaos, a heat that made my blood feel too fast, too alive. And somewhere in the middle, a wicked, thrilling clarity bloomed:

I was never letting her go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

I ground the cigarette under my boot, leaving a dark smear in the grass, and stared up at the stars I couldn’t see through the neon party lights. This was going to be a war of fire and blood and minds—and I was going to win, but I didn’t want to. Not entirely.

I wanted her to win as much as I wanted her to lose.

And that realization… that twisted, beautiful truth… made me feel alive in a way nothing else ever had.

I drew another shuddering breath, tasting the cold night on my tongue, feeling the hollow of panic mix with the thrill of something darker than desire.

She was mine. And she didn’t even know it yet.