FALLING FOR THE WRONG BROTHER.

Landon's POV

A soft, delicate rhythm pulled me from the depths of a whiskey-soaked sleep.

Fuck, that feels good.

The warmth of a palm, the gentle pressure of fingers and a slow, tantalizing stroke up my aching length. I kept my eyes shut tight, diving back into the fantasy.

Kasey.

Of course, it was her. It was always her in my head.

I could see her so clearly. Those wide, innocent brown eyes that held a secret spark of mischief just for me. The long, chestnut hair that felt like silk between my fingers. And those lips… God, those pink, pouty lips I’d imagined wrapped around me a thousand times. The thought alone, the vividness of her in my mind, sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to my cock.

She had that effect on me. One look and I was ready to combust. Every. Single. Time.

I was already teetering on the edge, my hips giving a slight, involuntary grind against that glorious, soft hand.

"Fuck, baby, just like that," I murmured, my voice thick with sleep and desire.

She let out a light, airy laugh. "You like it?"

I froze.

The voice was wrong. All wrong.

Kasey’s voice was sweet, chirpy, a melody that could untie every knot in my shoulders and simultaneously tie a new one in my dick. This voice was… different. Higher. It had a nasal, almost cartoonish quality to it, like someone had given a squeaky toy a vocabulary. Oh, fuck. No. Please, no.

My fantasy shattered, the beautiful image of Kasey evaporating like smoke. A cold dread washed over me, sobering me up in an instant. Please let it be her. Please let it not be that I brought some random bimbo to fuck last night. Please, for the love of God…

"Your dick has gotten soft," the wrong voice noted, its tone a mix of disappointment and clinical observation. "I could change that for you."

Nope. Definitely not her.

"Wanna fuck again, Reaper?"

Absolutely the fuck not.

My eyes snapped open, and I was blinded by the sudden, brutal assault of morning sunlight. I blinked, the world coming into harsh, unforgiving focus. My eyes landed on the naked woman lying next to me, her head propped on her hand, and my heart didn’t just sink—it fucking nosedived into my stomach and exploded.

She had the wrong eye color. While Kasey’s eyes were a warm, clear brown, hers were a vacant shade of blue, ringed with smudged, last-night’s mascara.

She also had the wrong body. All sharp angles and overly-tanned skin where Kasey was all soft, lush curves and peaches-and-cream.

She was not Kasey.

I had the wrong woman in my fucking bed.

"Who the fuck are you?" I asked, my voice a low growl as I ripped myself away from her touch, scrambling back against the headboard like she was contagious.

She pouted, those wrong lips forming a shape that just made me angry. "I’m Kendra. But you can call me Kasey, because you kept calling me that when you were fucking me." She batted her clumpy eyelashes at me. "I think it suits me, don’t you think?”

Fuck me.

A wave of pure, unadulterated disgust rolled through me. I called her Kasey. The shame was a physical burn in my throat. What the hell was I thinking? I didn't bring women back here. This was my space. This is the bed I imagined her in every single night. This woman being here was a defilement. A fucking violation of a sacred shrine she didn’t even know existed.

I could smell last night’s tequila on her breath, mixed with my own. “What happened last night?” I demanded, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to will the entire memory into existence or out of existence, I wasn’t sure which I preferred.

“The Clubhouse? You bought me, like, seven shots," she giggled, that squeaky-toy sound grating on my last nerve. She started to crawl toward me, her bare breasts swaying. "You said you loved my… energy. Then you brought me here and fucked me so good against that door." She pointed a manicured finger toward my bedroom door. "It was, like, super hot. You wanna go again? I’m still so wet for you."

My stomach churned. Did I use a condom? I frantically scanned the room. No wrappers. No tell-tale foil packets on the nightstand.

Fuck.

If I fucked this stranger who appeared to be a Clubhouse whore with no protection, I would go crazy from the sheer thought of it because I never did raw.

Maybe with Kasey but not this possibly unvaccinated bombshell who looked like she hadn’t met a bar of soap since she hit puberty. I might as well cut my dick off and donate it to science.

“Get out,” I said, the words flat and cold.

Her faux-sexy pout vanished, replaced by genuine confusion. “What? Why? Baby, come on…”

“I am not your baby. Get your fucking clothes and get the fuck out of my apartment.” I threw the duvet off, standing up, naked and furious, stalking toward the pile of her clothes I spotted on a chair.

"Whoa, okay, rude much?" she said, sitting up, not making a move to cover herself. She seemed more offended than scared. "You weren’t saying that last night when you had your tongue—"

"Last night was a mistake." I deadpanned, snatching up a tiny, sequined top and a pair of jeans that looked like they’d been attacked by a scissors-wielding maniac. I threw them at the bed. ,"A blackout fucking mistake fueled by cheap tequila and my own spectacularly bad judgment. Now. Get. Dressed."

Tears welled in her wrong blue eyes. "But… but you said I was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You said my name was so pretty."

"I wasn’t talking about you." I was fantasizing about someone else. "Now, for the last time, get the hell out of my house."

The tears started to fall, carving lines through her makeup. "You’re a dick."

"Yeah, well, you should have known that when I called you by the wrong name. Now move it before I drag you out myself." I turned my back on her, grabbing a pair of boxer briefs from my drawer and yanking them on, my skin crawling with the need to scrub the entire night off of me.

I heard the rustle of fabric behind me, followed by a few pathetic sniffs. "I could make you feel so good," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You don’t need to think about her. Just let me… let me suck your cock. You’ll forget all about that other girl."

Yeah, I wish it was that fucking easy.

I spun around. She was on her knees on the mattress, her hands clasped in front of her as if in prayer. The sight wasn’t enticing; it was pathetic. Desperation is the least sexy scent in the world.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I laughed, a harsh, brittle sound. "The only thing your mouth is gonna do is say ‘goodbye’ on its way out the door. Now, I’m going to stand right here and watch you put every single item of clothing on. Then you will walk to that door, you will open it, and you will never, ever come back here. Do you understand me?"

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. The act was finally over. She started pulling on her jeans with a sullen expression. I stared her down, every second stretching into an eternity of awkward, seething disgust. My mind was already racing, trying to piece together the night, the shame a hot coal in my gut.

Finally, she was dressed, looking smaller and less bombastic than she had ten minutes ago. She shuffled toward the bedroom door, pausing with her hand on the knob. She looked back at me, one last attempt at a seductive glance. It just made her look cross-eyed.

"Your loss," she squeaked.

"I highly doubt that,"

She opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. I didn’t move until I heard the distant sound of my front apartment door clicking shut.

Fuck.

I was alone. But the ghost of her perfume, a cloying, sweet scent of synthetic vanilla hung in the air, polluting my space. Polluting Kasey’s space.

I needed a shower. I needed to burn the sheets. Hell, I needed to bleach my fucking brain and maybe dunk my dick in holy water while I was at it, because apparently it couldn’t survive a single week without dragging me straight into chaos.

But most of all, I needed to hear her voice. I needed to hear the right voice.

I grabbed my phone from the charger, my thumb hovering over my brother’s contact. I scrolled down until I found it: Trouble. My secret name for her in my contacts.

​I had her number because Tyler, my best friend, was oblivious. He was so comfortable with our relationship, so trusting of me, that he’d just assumed I had his little sister's number for things like coordinating family dinners or organizing last minute birthday presents.

He had no idea I spent hours staring at her name, memorizing the time she last checked her messages. He had no idea that I read and reread the three innocuous text exchanges we’d had—about a borrowed movie or the next Clubhouse barbecue we would be holding.

He had no idea I was fucking obsessed with her.

I typed out a message, my heart hammering against my ribs, the disgust from Kendra morphing into a frantic, possessive need for the real thing.

The message said: "Hey, you. You awake?"

My thumb hovered over send.

But I couldn’t do it. Not when one word from me could ruin everything.

After all, I was nothing more than her brother's best friend.

The older brother of the man she loved.

And that was all I was ever going to be to her.