Thomas’s hands slide under my sweater, warm palms against my lower back, and I forget everything—Logan, Jason, pancakes. All of it. There’s only his mouth, his hands, the slow press of his body against mine.
“We should—” I manage between kisses, but Thomas makes a disapproving noise and pulls me closer.
“Shh,” he mutters against my lips.
I laugh, breath hitching as I arch into him. “I was going to say we should make the pancake batter.”
He pulls back just far enough to give me a look of pure betrayal. “You’re thinking about pancake batter right now?”
“No,” I say, tugging him back in. “I’m not thinking at all.”
That earns me a grin—right before he kisses me again, deeper this time, more insistent. His body pins mine gently to the counter, one hand sliding into my hair, the other drifting higher up my back, splaying over my ribs.
I’m so caught up I don’t hear the footsteps. Don’t register the presence in the room until a sharp, pointed cough slices through the haze in my head.
We spring apart like we’ve been electrocuted.
Standing in the doorway, arms folded and hair sticking up, is my brother.
“Uh, what the fuck?” Jason says, blinking at us like he’s not entirely convinced we’re real.
My face goes up in flames so fast I’m surprised I don’t spontaneously combust.
“Jason,” I squeak. “You’re up early.”
“Apparently,” he says, deadpan.
Thomas clears his throat. I glance over, expecting him to look as wrecked as I feel—but of course not. There’s a faint flush on his cheekbones, but otherwise, he’s perfectly calm, like getting caught making out with his best friend’s brother is just a casual start to the day.
“Morning, Jase,” he says smoothly.
Jason blinks at us, like he’s trying to recalibrate—processing what he just saw and realizing he’s not exactly thrilled about it. The silence stretches, and I can feel myself shrinking into the awkward teenager I used to be—the one who got caught stealing his hoodies and using his cologne. Thomas stays annoyingly composed, like this is a minor detour in the morning, not a full-on scandal in my brother’s kitchen.
“So,” Jason says, dragging the word out, “what is this?”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
“I’m making pancakes,” I say finally.
Which, technically, is true. But also spectacularly irrelevant.
Jason just stares, clearly waiting for a real answer—one that doesn’t involve breakfast. I glance at Thomas, who gives me a small, maddeningly calm nod, then back at Jason, who’s still standing there with his arms crossed.
This is not how I pictured this conversation going. Not when I haven’t even figured out what the hell I’m supposed to say. Not without game-planning with Thomas first to make sure Jason wouldn’t flip. And definitely not while we’re both kiss-swollen, half-hard, and wearing the world’s worst poker faces.
“Alright,” Jason says, leveling a look at both of us. “Are you guys fucking?”
“No,” I blurt.
“Yes,” Thomas says at the same time, stepping toward me—closing the gap I’d frantically put between us the moment Jason showed up.
“Since when?” Jason demands, jaw tight.
I clear my throat, scrambling. “Since…recently? Not that long ago? It’s new?” It comes out as a string of panicked questions—not exactly the calm, responsible image I was hoping to project.
Jason’s eyebrows shoot up even higher. “Did you hook up last night?”
“Yes,” Thomas says—and he doesn’t even look faintly embarrassed. I, on the other hand, want to dissolve into the floor and be absorbed by the tiles. Of course Jason would connect the dots. He’s always had an infuriating radar for my private life, no matter how hard I try to keep him out of it.
