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“I’m not tired.”

“It’s late, you just got beat up—”

“I didn’t get beat up.”

“You said you got rocked.”

“A little.”

“And you were mugged.”

“I didn’t get beat up,” he insists.

“You beat him up?”

This nod is much more deliberate.

“But you didn’t use a weapon?”

“Didn’t need to. I’m very good with my hands.”

Ignoring the innuendo both in that statement and his raised eyebrow, I brace a palm on the counter before questioning, “Yet he still made off with your money?”

“If I knew you were looking forward to that thong so bad, he wouldn’t’ve.”

“I’m not…” Why is he turning this around on me? He beat up a guy but let him take his money? “I don’t care about that part.”

“What part do you care about?”

“I care…about…” Um. “Your safety.” That’s what family is supposed to do—care about one another.

At least that’s what I’ve read about. Found family is one of my favorite tropes.

“You do?”

“In a sisterly way, yeah. Sure.”

“Do you feel sisterly toward me, Kota?”

My mouth opens and closes.

“’Cause I don’t feel brotherly toward you.”

He doesn’t feel boyfriendly toward me either. He made that clear.

“That’s normal. We’ve been only children up until now, so we’re not—”

Slowly, his head shakes. “That’s not why.”

Because he wants in my pants. He’s made that clear, too.

“Let me guess—”

“Shh.”

Pushing off the counter, Khaos brings his body flush against mine as we listen to…something?

A door somewhere else in the house closes heavily—the front door—then footsteps pound up the stairs.