I roll my eyes, sip the hot chocolate, and let the sugar settle me a little. “You eavesdrop too much.”
She shrugs, hair falling into her face. “You’re obvious.” Then her eyes narrow, sharp as hell. “Wait. Was it a him?”
My throat closes up for a second. She knows I’m bi, has since I told her four years ago, but that doesn’t stop the way my chest tightens. “Why do you care?”
“Because you’re my brother, and I like being right.” She grins, wicked. “So… was it?”
I shake my head, but the smile tugging at my mouth betrays me.
She gasps like she’s just won the lottery. “Oh my God. It was.”
“Rosa,” I warn, though my voice is weak as hell.
She just laughs, pulling her knees up. “You never smile like that about girls. Not really. You get all… quiet. But this? You look like you’re about to write the greatest album of your life.”
I groan and drop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re in trouble,” she sings, nudging me again with her toe.
She’s not wrong. Every lyric in my notebook, every restless hum in my chest, every damn thought lately—it all circles back to him. Ollie. Captain Golden Boy with the careful smile and the weight of Wisconsin stitched into his shoulders.
“Don’t tell Mamá and Papá,” I mutter. It’s not that they don’t know my sexuality, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting them know about a crush, a hookup, or anything in between until I’m in a position to be serious.
Rosa softens at that, sitting up straighter. “Of course not. I’m not stupid. Just… be careful, okay?”
I glance at her, surprised by the seriousness in her voice. She shrugs. “I don’t wanna see you hurt.”
Something catches in my throat. I reach over, ruffle her hair until she yelps, and say, “You’re a pain in the ass.”
She beams anyway. “And you love me.”
I do. God, I do. But I’m already thinking ahead—to LA, to the practice room with my guys, to the stage lights. To the textthreads that light up my phone, and the quiet moments I don’t want to admit I crave with someone I shouldn’t.
I sip the last of the lukewarm chocolate and lean my head back against the wall. I’m already itching to get back. Not because I don’t love it here—I do—but because everything I want, everything that makes my blood run faster, is waiting there.
And most of all,he’swaiting.
Whether he knows it or not.
CHAPTER
NINE
Campus feels like a ghost town,not surprising since technically winter break isn’t over yet. It’s December 30, and you can still smell pine needles rotting in the dumpsters behind the dorms. Someone’s blown-out string of Christmas lights sags from a balcony across the quad, dead bulbs dangling like snapped bones.
Most students are still gone. But athletes are back—basketball, swimming, all the ones with winter schedules. And me, because while everyone else is milking another week at home, I’ve got a demo to hand in. Deadline: tomorrow. New Year’s Eve.
Our apartment door sticks, so I have to shove my shoulder into it. Inside, Drew’s stretched full length on the couch, boots kicked up on the coffee table, his guitar balanced on his chest. He’s half asleep, half strumming, some lazy riff that loops but doesn’t go anywhere. Eli’s at the counter, polishing off the last of the tamales my mamá wrapped in foil and forced me to bring back. The whole place smells like chili and lime, like home, which is almost enough to make me forget the pressure clawing at the back of my skull.
“About time,” Eli says around a mouthful. “We thought you got married to your notebook.”
I drop my bag with a thud. “Give me a week.”
Drew cracks one eye. “Was there a wedding invite we missed, or are you still jerking off to metaphors?”
“Both,” I shoot back, but my voice is distracted because my brain’s already racing. “We’ve got to lock the demo down. Tonight.”
Drew groans, dragging his hands down his face like he’s in pain. “Tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve, man. Normal people are planning parties, not making Miles shift a hi-hat two decibels left. It’s done. It’s been done. Just send the damn thing already.”
