Page 9 of Falling For My Best Friend's Brother

Right from the day I learned how to speak, I’d been surrounded by people. And not just my family, but “friends.” Growing up in Cali, both girls and boys struggled to get close to me. Still, I was very popular in high school. And for a while, I thought it was because I was so likable and friendly. It wasn’t until junior year when a fight broke out between me and a “friend” that I realized the truth. She casually commented that I was useless without my parent’s money, and that’s when I learned that my likability was tied to my family’s affluence.

After that, I shut everyone out. Unfriended all of them and stayed by myself. It hurt because I wasn’t used to solitude. But I made it work. I would rather be alone than be friends with people who thought so little of me.

It was around that time that Lindsay and I began to talk. She sat alone at lunch, and one day I absentmindedly sat with her. Just like that, we hit it off. She minded her own business, although I didn’t realize until later that it had a lot to do with her family going through financial difficulties.

Of course, I was skeptical at first. No one who’d been treated like me would be eager to make a new friend. But the best part was… Lindsay didn’t push. On some days, she waited for me to speak to her first, others, she didn’t even show up at school.

I missed her one day when she wasn’t in class, and after finding out where she lived, I went to see her. I will never forget the look on her face when she opened the door and saw me. That gleaming smile. That was the turning point for me.

Lindsay was the only person who understood my reservations about my family’s wealth, and how small it made me feel. She didn’t disparage me for my ingratitude, instead, she motivated me to be my own person.

We ended up going to the same college, and from sophomore to junior year of college, we both worked shifts at a diner. She needed the job more than I did, but I worked because I wanted the experience, and the confidence making my own cash gave me. My parents weren’t okay with it, obviously, but their opinion mattered very little in the grand scheme of things.

I was quite content with Lindsay being my only close friend. I never really needed anyone else

Point is, I’d tried my goddamn best, yet here was Lindsay’s dickhead brother, shitting on all my efforts.

At least now that he’d made it very clear that he didn’t like me, I didn’t have to be nice. Fuck him all the way to hell. In fact, if he wanted hell, I’d show him all nine levels until he moved out.

The sooner the better.

Thinking about my life always put me in a sour mood, and now I am hungry. I didn’t know how long it’d been since lunch, and I didn’t care. If this was the past, I’d order some Uber eats or pizza, but I was trying to cut down on the excessive spending and be a responsible adult.

I headed to the kitchen, sighing in relief when I saw it was empty. The last thing I needed right now was to bump into Knox. He was in the house. It was a Saturday, and I hadn’t heard him leave yet today.

I got in contact with my inner chef, donning my favorite pink apron and matching hat.Look good to feel good, right?Smiling, I whisked to the expensive fridge I bought—courtesy of my parents’ money—and pulled the double doors open, cocking my head to the side.

“Alright. What do we have here?” I mumbled, looking through the contents. I could see tomatoes and some bell peppers and… milk? I reached for them, moving to the counter. “Okay. Let’s make some pasta.”

Of course I was making pasta. It was the only other thing I could cook. I took out a knife and a cutting board and chopped the vegetables.

Cooking for me was a new experience every time. I was terrible at it, and it was that knowledge that had me moving as slowly as possible so I didn’t make a drastic mistake. Like adding the tomatoes to the boiling water before parboiling the spaghetti or adding too much spice to the cream sauce.

And as weird as it sounded, even though I was bad at it, I thoroughly enjoyed being in the kitchen. To me, it was an art. Much like painting, mixing things was always therapeutic to me. I loved watching the different colors come together in the pot. It always made me feel good afterwards.

Sure, the process was a mess. There were pots everywhere, I’d spilled milk all over the stove, and there were chunks of tomatoes sticking to the counter. It’d been about an hour and my head hurt, my tank top was sticking to my skin, and I reeked of onions.

I needed a shower. I’d clean the kitchen after I was done cleaning myself.

I grabbed some clothes from my bedroom and made my way to the bathroom. Thankfully, I figured out that Knox usually used the bathroom in the mornings, so we didn’t have to run into each other. It helped that my room was right next door. There was the option of using Lindsay’s bathroom, but this one was closer, and I really preferred the one I’ve used since I moved in. Why should I let him get in my way?

Showering took less than twenty minutes. For a brief second, I almost walked out of the bathroom in just my panties. But then I remembered the grouch down the hall. It wouldn’t make a good impression if he saw me in my underwear. I didn’t want him to think I was trying to seduce him or anything crazy like that. So, I settled for some shorts and a crop top.

Once that was taken care of, I headed back to the kitchen, immediately groaning. This was the part I hated about cooking: cleaning up. It always felt dirty and disgusting, and I wished I didn’t have to do it. Short of hiring a housekeeper—which would go down really well with Assface—I didn’t see how I was getting out of this, so…

Walking into the kitchen, I paused. Speak of the fucking Devil. What the hell did Knox want now? He was standing in front of me, eyes taking in the chaos. The place looked like a truck drove through it, but I was going to tidy up. Why did he have to find it like this?

Ignoring Knox, I walked past him to the stove, grabbing a rag and began wiping the milk. I tried to ignore him, but his imposing presence and watchful gaze were inescapable.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I pursed my lips and faced him, jutting out a hip. Big mistake. My eyes raked over him and I actually felt my ovaries cry a little.

Petition to ban Knox Coleman from wearing compression shirts for the sake of womenfolk everywhere.

I dragged my gaze to his face, giving him my sassiest look. “Unless you’re about to beg for pasta, I don’t see why you’re standing there, staring like a creep.”

“This place is a mess,” he said, disgusted. “What, did you forget how to use a stove?”

“Did you forget how to mind your business?”

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