Page 24 of Crushing On My Brothers BFF

“It was probably somebody from the neighborhood. You know how people are in this town. Well, even adjacent to LA. They get fame crazy. She probably just saw her chance and leaped on it.”

“She’s not leaping on anything,” I say, with too much fierceness in my voice.

“Damn, careful, bro. It sounded like you already had somebody else in mind for a second there.”

I laugh gruffly. “That’d suit you, eh? Means I finally took your advice.”

He laughs, too. “Anything to do the impossible. Put a smile on that grumpy face.”

“Hey, man. I can smile from time to time.”

“I know. Sophie showed me that video last night. The one from the hospital.”

Guilt destroys the moment. The only reason I was smilingthenwas because I was so surprised by how sassy and confident his little sister was.

“Speaking of Sophie,” he goes on. “She’s game for the documentary. Anytime you want to come over and get the ball rolling is cool with me.”

Tell him you can’t do it anymore. Tell him you need to go home.

Nothing is stopping me from telling him this. He’d understand, but I know I won’t. Maybe I can tell myself it’s because I don’t want to upset him. The truth is, though—and this makes me a bad man—I want to see Sophie again.

“How about this morning?” I ask.

“Sounds good,” he replies. “And Kaleb, let’s hold off on security for now. I don’t want to freak Sophie out.”

She’s not a little girl anymore, I almost say, but don’t.

Sitting across the street, I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, wondering which of these houses, if any, belongs to the woman who sent me a naked photo. I cringe at the idea of Sophie being the one to pick up a letter like that, not Paul.

Wait a second. How the hell did Paul get to it first? Did Sophie see it and bring it to him? Did it have my name on it? Hopefully, it was a one-off, and I don’t have to worry about my woman seeing that filth. The last thing I want is for her to believe I’d be interested in anybody else, even if it would make my life much easier.

Pushing the car door open, I walk across the street. With each step, I tell myself I’ll be better today: no more way-too-forward leg touching, no more kisses, no more heat, no more obsession.

Ringing the doorbell, I wait, reminding myself of all this and forgetting it the second Sophie opens the door. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun, highlighting the natural beauty in her features. Her top is not tight, exactly, but not loose, either. It shows those big, beautiful tits.

“Come in,” she says, stepping aside and waving a hand.

She takes abigstep to the side, like she doesn’t want to be close to me. Did I misread the passion in her kiss the last time? I knowwe can’t do it again. I know we have to be better. I didn’t stop to contemplate the idea that she didn’t enjoy the hot intimacy of the kiss as much as I did.

When she closes the door behind me, I turn to her with a tight smile. “I’ll say hello to?—”

“He’s asleep,” she cuts in, “and Riley is on her break. She’ll be back soon, though.”

I wonder if she adds that last part as a reminder not to overstep the mark.

“Do you want a coffee?” she asks.

“Sure,” I reply, following her into the kitchen but keeping a decent distance between us so she doesn’t think I’m trying to push myself on her again.

It’s not just for her, either. For myself, I try to remember I’m a friend first, an obsessed savage second, and I have to stay away from her. I stand on the other side of the kitchen divider as she makes the coffee, but I can’t stop my gaze from moving to her top and those big, juicy, tempting tits. Her lips… I remember how she tasted, how her nerves melted to lust as she leaned against me. Or did I imagine the lust, hope for it? Was I projecting?

“The video’s almost at a hundred thousand views,” she says, staring at the tin of coffee almost stubbornly. “People are calling us theFame Warriors.”

I laugh. “Fame Warriors?”

She grins, but she’s still not looking at me. “I guess we’re like superheroes. In a town full of fame-hungry, fame-chasingzombies, we’re the vigilantes fighting back, one stolen phone at a time.”

“Maybe we should make T-shirts.”

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