Page 126 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
He isn’t cleaning. He’s standing over the stove, stirring a pot of something that smells like vanilla and brown sugar.
“And don’t touch the oatmeal,” Owen adds. “It’s for stress-eating. I’m not letting us face Harper on an empty stomach.”
“You’re cooking?” I ask, watching him sprinkle cinnamon with a flourish.
“One of us has to function,” Owen says, flashing a tight grin. “Ethan’s managing the perimeter. Asher’s wiping the physical evidence. I’m making carbs. We’ve all got roles.”
I look at the duffel bag—our “Go-Bag.”
It isn’t a mess of panic-thrown items. It’s organized. Ethan’s spare Rolex sits in a case. The toothbrushes are packed.
“Ten minutes,” Asher announces, checking the chronograph on his wrist. “Flight 492 landed. Customs cleared. Uber is en route. ETA to doorstep: nine minutes, forty seconds.”
I stop moving. I look around the living room.
It looks normal.
Too normal.
The command center of the last twenty-four hours is completely dismantled. The servers Asher had running on my coffee table are gone. The tangled sheets in the bedroom are replaced with crisp white linens that scream I sleep alone.
I look at the three men in my living room.
They look out of place. They’re too big, too intense, too aggressively masculine for this space. Ethan is wearing a dark t-shirt stretching across his chest, arms crossed, face set in grim determination. Owen leans against the kitchen island, feigning relaxation. Asher stands completely still, mapping the room for weak points.
They look ready for war.
“You have to go,” I say, nerves suddenly hitting me hard. “If she sees you here…”
“We can’t,” Ethan says. He steps forward, checking the room one last time. “She explicitly asked us to come over. If we bail now, it looks suspicious. We’re her brothers. We haven’t seen her in a month. If we aren’t here with champagne, she’ll know something’s wrong.”
“But if you’re here…” I look at them. “You can’t look at me. You can’t touch me. You can’t do… that.”
“Do what?” Owen grins, though it looks tight around the edges.
“That thing where you look at me like I’m your next meal.”
Ethan’s jaw tightens. He reaches out, adjusting the strap of my tank top. His knuckles brush my collarbone, leaving a trail of heat that makes my breath hitch.
“We can handle Harper,” he says quietly. “We built Mosaic from the ground up by keeping our identities secret. We can hide this for forty-eight hours.”
“It’s not just a relationship, Ethan,” I whisper. “It’s us. It’s everything.”
“Protocol is active,” Asher says, stepping between us. He physically separates Ethan’s hand from my shoulder. “Rule one: No physical contact within a two-mile radius. That includes the apartment.”
Ethan glares at him, a low growl rumbling in his chest, but he drops his hand.
“Asher’s right,” Ethan says, switching modes. The Lover vanishes. The CEO takes over. “We’re in Big Brother mode. I’m the stern, overprotective brother. Owen’s the annoying tease. Asher’s the robot. And you…”
He looks at me, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second before hardening back into steel.
“You’re the best friend. Nothing more.”
Nothing more.
The words hurt, even though they’re necessary. I squeeze my eyes shut, swallowing the knot in my throat.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Best friend. I can do that.”
