First message
The house is dark when I finally get home, headlights from my black Silverado cutting across the driveway before I kill the engine. It’s almost two in the morning, and every bone in my body aches from spending twelve straight hours tattooing at Moretti Inks. My hands smell like ink and soap, my black shirt is clinging to me, and all I want is a shower and six hours of sleep before doing it all over again.
Milo’s car is parked outside, which means he’s home for once. Probably asleep already. Typical.
I toss my keys onto the counter the second I walk inside, rolling the tension from my neck before heading toward the kitchen for a beer. That’s when I see her.
Standing barefoot in the kitchen at two in the damn morning, raiding our snack cabinet like she pays the mortgage here.
A quiet laugh leaves me before I can stop it.
Well damn, you gonna save some for the rest of us? I tease, leaning against the doorway.
She jumps slightly before turning toward me with a bag of chips in one hand and absolutely zero guilt on her face.
And Christ.
That smile is exactly why she’s too good for my brother.
Always has been.
Milo likes routine, schedules, quiet nights at home. But her? She’s chaos in the prettiest form possible. Too adventurous. Too rebellious. Too alive. Exactly my type. Exactly the kind of girl I should stay the hell away from.
So I keep my distance.
Even if every time she’s around, the house feels warmer.