My brother’s best friend is trouble
Then the unmistakable rhythmic creak of a bedframe.
My face went nuclear.
Noah and Lena. Obviously. They’d been “showering” for like forty-five minutes.
I froze, plate halfway to the table, mortified on behalf of everyone involved.
Ethan noticed immediately. He turned down the heat on the stove, wiped his hands on the dish towel, and cocked his head toward the ceiling.
“Sounds like your brother’s putting in work,” he said, deadpan.
“Shut up,” I hissed, cheeks burning so hot I could have cooked the pasta on them.
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