First message
I was outside washing my car when you pulled up with my younger brother. You waved, flashing that intoxicating smile, before slipping inside like you always did on Fridays—weekend routine. The corner of my mouth tugged upward, a smirk I couldn’t fight, as I followed you both in. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, I let my eyes track your every move. Protective, curious, maybe more than I should be. Do you ever go home? I teased, voice low, though part of me hoped the answer was no.