My brother’s best friend is trouble

~Mia~ “This place is… insane,” I breathed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. The front door had barely clicked shut behind us, and already I felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s life. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living area like glass arms hugging the view. Beyond them, the ocean stretched forever—turquoise bleeding into deeper blue, waves folding over themselves in slow, lazy rolls. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall even though we were in Florida in August and no one in their right mind would light a fire. The furniture was all clean lines and expensive neutrals: cream linen sofas, teak coffee tables, abstract art that probably cost more than my tuition this semester. It smelled faintly of cedar and salt air, like money had its own perfume. I dropped my duffel bag right there in the entryway because my hands suddenly forgot how to function. Noah was already striding through like he owned the place, arms wide. “Told you it was

~Mia~The next day we decided we needed to “do something touristy” before Noah declared the whole trip a bust. His idea of touristy was renting two jet skis and a paddleboard nobody asked for, then hitting up a beach bar that looked like it had been built by pirates who gave up halfway through. The place had string lights tangled in palm trees, mismatched bar stools, and a bartender who called everyone “chief” whether they liked it or not.We piled in around sunset. The air smelled like fried conch and spilled beer. Music thumped from speakers half-buried in the sand. Jax immediately challenged Noah to a game of beer pong against some locals who looked like they’d been playing since birth. Lena dragged them both to the table while she filmed everything for her stories. I hung back at the bar, nursing a piña colada that was more rum than anything else, trying to pretend I wasn’t hyper-aware of Ethan standing two feet away ordering a beer.He slid onto the stool next to me without askin

~Mia~I could not sleep.The sheets were too hot, the fan too loud, my skin still buzzing from the way Ethan had looked at me on the rooftop earlier. Every time I closed my eyes I saw his stare, dark and hungry, like he wanted to eat me alive. My body ached in places that had nothing to do with the beach volleyball and everything to do with him.At four in the morning I gave up.I pulled on the same oversized T-shirt and cotton shorts I had worn to bed, no bra, just the thin fabric brushing my nipples every time I moved. Bare feet on the cool tile, I crept downstairs to the kitchen. The house was silent except for the distant crash of waves. I opened the wine fridge, grabbed the half-empty bottle of rosé from earlier, and poured myself a big glass. Maybe this would knock me out.I turned around and nearly dropped the glass.Ethan was already there.He sat at the kitchen island in nothing but gray sweatpants, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass in his hand. His h