Chapter 1

I froze.

He had the nerve to pout. "I've got a basketball game tonight. If we go again, my legs won't hold up…"

Dead and gone — and suddenly sitting bolt upright.

The realization hit me like ice water: the man in my bed might actually be my boyfriend's brother. The one still in college.

I'd noticed something felt off about his hair the moment I walked in. Now I knew why.

A cold sweat broke across my skin.

I yanked the sheet around myself and screamed, "Why are you here?! How did you get into my apartment?!"

Silence.

His lashes trembled — long, dark, unsteady — as he stared at me. His voice came out hoarse, almost incredulous. "What do you mean, that's what this was? You were so... so into it, and you didn't even know who you were with?"

He looked wounded. Genuinely wounded.

And that somehow made it impossible for me to blurt out face blindness as an explanation.

I forced myself to breathe.

Pushed past the panic and asked the more urgent question: "Where's your brother? Why isn't he home?"

Cole looked down. "I had a tournament at the college nearby. Everything was booked — no hotel rooms anywhere. I called Preston to crash here. He didn't want to disturb my sleep, so he stayed at the office." A pause. "We didn't know... you'd come back early."

His voice got quieter with each word.

His expression got more and more helpless.

No. His helplessness was not my problem.

"Then why didn't you say who you were before we—" I couldn't finish the sentence.

Cole went quieter still.

"You came in and kissed me. I didn't get a chance to explain." He hesitated. "I know you don't want Preston to find out about us. I won't say anything." Another pause. "Let's just... pretend this was a dream. Okay?"

He said it simply. Then he got up and did everything that needed doing — remade the bed, erased every trace, put everything back in order. All of it calm, methodical, almost too careful.

It was exactly the best-case scenario I'd been hoping for.

So perfect it made me feel like a monster.

When I finally caught him smoothing out my underwear between his hands, I couldn't stop myself. "I'll do that."

I reached for it.

He flinched back like I'd touched a live wire.

When he looked at me, his eyes were wet.

"I'm the one who made a mess," he said quietly.

God, I am such a terrible person.

My phone buzzed.

A voice message from Preston.

I went to play it — then my eyes landed on Cole's wet, watchful gaze, and my nerve failed me. I hit the transcription button instead.

[Babe, when are you coming home? I've been working on a new recipe — you're going to love it!]

[Miss you miss you 😊]

One of the reasons I'd fallen for Preston in the first place was that he cooked. After years of takeout, having someone who actually made real food felt like a miracle.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Cole drifted closer. "That new recipe he's been working on?" he said. "I'm the one who taught him."

I looked up. But he'd already pulled open the fridge and was already proving his point. "The ingredients from yesterday are still good. Don't believe me? I'll make it for you right now."

He said this and then, in one smooth motion, pulled off his shirt and reached for Preston's apron.

Why would you take off your shirt to cook?

I followed him into the kitchen anyway.

He worked fast — slicing, rinsing, tossing everything in the pan with easy confidence. The apron strings hung just low enough to cover the important parts.

Just barely.

My pulse did something embarrassing.

"It's covering it, it's covering it — hey, no, why are you making food right now, that is NOT the point—"

Before I finished the sentence, the dish was already plated.

He set it down and looked at me with quiet expectation. "Don't you want to try a bite?"

Try... what, exactly?

He was built like a wall. College-athlete version. The kind of solid that made your brain go completely offline.

Inside my head, two voices were at war.

Try it! said the first.

The second had its hands around my throat: You've already had a taste — knowing exactly who he is only makes it worse. JUST DO IT—

Cole set down the plate and walked toward me. Slow. Deliberate. He looked down at me from his full height. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Something charged and unnameable filled the room.

"You can call me..." I swallowed. "...sister-in-law, if you want."

His footsteps stopped.

His expression shifted to something dark and unreadable. "Sister-in-law," he repeated. "In which situation, exactly?"

Before I could answer—

The lock clicked.

My scalp prickled.

A beat later, a voice from the doorway: "A suitcase? Babe, is that you? Did you come home early?"