Brody
Thirty minutes later, I’d finished the last of the bourbon and was heading to bed when a tentative knock had my d**k hard again. Instead of heading to my bedroom, I kept straight and swung open the door.
“You actually know how to knoc—” My words died in my throat.
I wasn’t staring at Morgan. I was staring at her stepsister.
“Oh.” My hand let go of the door, and I stepped back.
Abigail Kellerman, whom I met briefly my first night there, was standing on the porch, not a single brother in sight.
I chuckled to myself, pointing to the door. “Is that weird for you?”
“What?”
“Having to knock on your own door? This is technically your place, not mine.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She wasn’t in my headspace. I waved a hand inside. “Come on in.” I held up the empty bottle. “I’ve had a few, so
