Page 6 of Lit Up by My Brother's Best Friend

“Let me get this straight. You were sneaking into a concert?” I ask this as nonjudgmentally as I can while we sit on her couch picking a movie to watch.

“Yes. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

“But you had a ticket. Why the hell were you climbing the fence?

“I was sneaking in.”

“With a ticket?” I ask again, this time more incredulously.

“In case I got caught,” she mumbles.

And then I buckle. I can’t stop laughing. I’m folded over with my arms on my knees.

“Hunter, you said you wouldn’t laugh at me.” She shoves me lightly.

“I’m not laughing at you.” I say between gulps of air. Man, I haven’t laughed like this in a while, and it feels so damn good.

“Yes, you are.” I can hear the pout in her voice.

Once I get my chuckles under control, I look up at her and, sure enough, she’s giving me duck lips. “I’m laughingwithyou.”

“But I’m not laughing.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” I grin at her. When she tries to shove me again, I pull her into a hug. Shesmells so damn good, and—jolt to my dick—I don’t think she’s wearing a bra. I can feel the softness of her tits against my chest, and it feels way too good. Dangerzone.

I’ve always been able to resist her because she’s always had a boyfriend. So whatever feelings have crept up from time to time (okay—every time I see her), I just shove them deep down into a dark cave. No one wants to venture in there to see the mess that lies within.

But her softness, her vulnerability, I can feel it like osmosis, seeping out of her and into me. I can’t help myself, I kiss her hair. Uh. Okay. I didn’t mean to kiss her. She has a boyfriend. Backpedal in my mind. It wasn’t a sexual kiss. I’m sure even her brother, Wyatt, has kissed her there before. That’s a weird thought. Okay. Hug her and move on. Don’t make this awkward.

“It’s all good, Sierra. See? This is just another example of how sweet you are.”

“You think I’m sweet?”

“The sweetest.” Uh. I shouldn’t have said that either. But really, it just seems like one of those nights where she might need some reassurance. I did just rescue her hanging from a fence. If there was ever going to be a night of consoling, this would be it.

“I thought you called me Sweets because I’m a baker?”

“That too.” And other reasons I’ll never tell her.

“Oh,” she mumbles to herself as she makes a concerted effort to find the remote. She clicks on the first movie highlighted in the box, and it starts to play. Probably for the best.

We’ve each got a bottle of soda and then we’re sharing a big bowl of popcorn with M&Ms sprinkled throughout. Everything is going well. Very platonic.

Except every time our fingers graze along each other’s when we reach for popcorn at the same time. I swear I’m not doing it onpurpose. I’m just really feeling the popcorn tonight. It’s like I can’t get enough of it.

“Ugh,” Sierra groans loudly as my fingers brush hers again. It’s only been like thirty-two times, nothing to get upset about. And I’m just about to tell her that she can get her own bowl when she grumbles, “Spin the bottle.”

“What?”

On the edge of the couch, she points to the screen. Oh, in the movie a group of college kids are playing spin the bottle. I remember those days and grin.

“Good times, right?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she mumbles.

“Wait. What?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

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