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Carson Roberts is Western University’s most sought after tight end. He’s the total package. A pretty face to go along with all those sculpted muscles—check. An All-American—double check. A guaranteed one-way ticket to the NFL after graduation—triple check.
Did I happen to mention that he’s also my brother’s best friend, which means I grew up with the guy and have crushed on him for nearly just as long?
We’re talking a decade of unrequited yearning here, folks. Don’t worry, I’m slowly coming to terms with the fact that he’ll never see me as anything more than the little sis he never had.
Sort of.
And even if he did just so happen to notice that I’ve filled out and no longer wear braces, Brayden would have a major conniption. When it comes to the male species, he’s ridiculously overprotective. Any guy who has so much as given me a bit of side-eye has been treated to a swift and memorable beat down.
Which is precisely why I’m still in possession of my V-card.
Want to know how to make being a nineteen-year-old virgin with a major crush on her brother’s best friend even more pathetic?
Blurt out at a frat party that you’ve spent all these years saving yourself for him. Sadly, I can’t even blame it on the alcohol because I don’t drink.
If you’re thinking it can’t possibly get more humiliating than that, you’d be wrong.
Oh. So. Wrong.
