Page 30 of Crushing On My Brothers BFF

“I got yourletter, okay?” I snap. “From one of your women. Naked photo and everything. Could you please ask her not to mail them to our address in the future?”

“You saw that?” he asks.

“I opened it,” I tell him.

“Why?” he demands, walking close to me but not touching. He knows better than to do that with all these people in view.

“What do you mean?” My heart is suddenly beating way too fast.

“It’s a simple question. You saw a letter addressed to me and decided to open it. Why?”

It wasn’t addressed to you. I could tell him this. I could lie. It would be the easiest option, but something about it makes me feel so low and pathetic. “I was curious.”

That’s a half-truth, at least. It doesn’t tell the whole story, but it’s not as if I’m going to come right out and tell him about the crush.

“Anyway, that’s not the point,” I tell him. “You’re clearly used to getting what you want from women, but I won’t be just another one on your list, okay? Not when Paul is at stake.”

“Do you think I want to hurt Paul?” he growls. “And for the record, there is nolist. I’ve got no clue who that woman is.”

“You don’t seem surprised about the letter, though.”

“Paul told me,” Kaleb snaps, his handsome features tight. “I don’t know who sent it, but I’m not interested in them.”

“Oh, right,” I reply sarcastically. “I guess I’m the only one you’re interested in, right? I guess I’mthatspecial? I might be younger than you, Kaleb, but I’m not a complete idiot.”

He grunts, walking ahead of me. “I’m not a fucking player if that’s what you’re implying.”

Just like that, he’s striding away. My body is still aching all over, especially between my legs, my underwear rubbing against my pussy like it’s trying to torture me, tempt me. It’s as if my desire wants me to run after him, apologize, and tell him I’ll do anything he wants, but I’m not doing that.

“Douchebag!” I yell after him.

Without turning, he waves a hand, striding toward the houses, most likely his car. When I get home, Paul calls to me, “Sophie? Is everything okay?”

Pathetically, I wish he was asleep. It would make this so much easier. After what we just did—I can still feel the heat of the orgasm—it would be so much betterfor me. Paul is sitting up in bed, one hand wrapped around a pulley.

“Fine,” I say. “Why?”

“I heard Kaleb’s car. Bit strange, him leaving without saying goodbye.”

“Maybe he had a meeting or something,” I murmur, knowing I’ll never be able to forgive myself. Maybe that’s why I freaked and blamed him. It’s easier than facing the fact that I wanted it just as badly, maybe more.I’mthe one who’s been waiting years for this.

I’ve been struggling to find the motivation for my college project, but I don’t have to convince myself to work on this video. I’m sitting in my bedroom, staring at my laptop, at Kaleb with the sun behind him, glistening in his hair as he stares off at the ocean. It’s a freeze-frame. It’s only been a couple of hours, but it’s still difficult to believe what we did so soon after we made this video.

I stroke my hand up my leg, looking at this man—so handsome, so confident, knowing he touched me right here not too long ago. He was moaning as he rubbed me faster, almost like it was turning him on just as much.

“Sophie,” Riley says, knocking on my door. “I’ve got a letter for you.”

Aletter? I can’t even remember the last time somebody sent me one. It must’ve been in high school during the pen pal program. Closing my laptop, I go to the door. Riley hands me the letter, not looking at me for some reason. I wonder if she’s tired or something.

“I’m going to check on Paul.”

The letter is addressed to me, handwritten. Opening it, I spill the contents onto my desk. A memory drive falls out. What the hell? I’m about to plug it into my laptop when I realize it could have a virus or something. Instead, I go under my bed and root around until I find my old laptop. This one barely turns on. I was supposed to trash it last year, but I kept putting it off. There’s something nostalgic about it. It’s the first laptop I ever owned, back when I’d use videos to disappear from Mom and Dad’s tragic passing.

After the laptop chugs to life, I plug the memory drive in. There’s one video. I click play. What thefuck?

I’m looking at the thirteen-year-old version of myself. I remember recording this video. I remember foolishly uploading it to the Cloud before, then deleting it years later. Where did they get it? Did I upload it anywhere else? I can’t remember. I look so young, silly, and innocent, my braces flashing at the camera, a big dorky grin on my face.

“So Kaleb looked at me today…”Thirteen-year-old me twirls her hair around her finger, getting a silly, dreamy look on her face.“I think he really liked my outfit. Maybe I’ll wear green more often, huh?”

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