“Morning, Buttercup.”
“Morning,” I breathe, my hands finding his shoulders, his skin warm under my palms. “How long have you been staring at me like a serial killer?”
“Not long.” He drops another kiss to my jaw, then my throat. “Maybe an hour. You drool, by the way.”
“I do not?—”
“You do. It’s cute. You make these little snores too.”
“You’re full of shit.” I laugh, but it quickly turns to a small moan as Luke nips at my collarbone, and I arch beneath him, my body already responding to his like it has a mind of its own. “I’m going to make you breakfast,” he murmurs against my skin. “The frozen pizza we had at two a.m. isn’t cutting it.”
Breakfast.
The word hits me like a rogue pigeon fighting for a french fry. “Shit.” I shove at his chest. Luke only raises his brows, not moving a millimeter. Seriously. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m supposed to have breakfast with my sister.”
Luke falls back onto the mattress with a groan, throwing an arm over his face. “I want to have breakfast with you.” I fight a smile, not wanting to encourage him.
I’m already scrambling out of bed, grabbing for my clothes from last night. “She texted me yesterday. I completely forgot. She’s going to kill me. Paislee hates tardiness. Probably why she became a teacher. So she could punish late people,” I ramble. “Not really. My sister might as well be a nun.” I love her to pieces, but she can be pretty lame in the best of ways. She loves a routine and gets frazzled when shit is not in order.
“She can wait.” He sits up, reaching for me, but I dodge his hand, heading for his dresser.
“She’s my sister, Luke. I can’t just blow her off.” I pull on my sneakers. “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
He pouts, actually pouts, his lower lip pushing out in a way that would be ridiculous if it weren’t so effective. “Fine. But I get the rest of today’s meals. That’s the deal.”
“Deal.” I pull on one of his hoodies, inhaling the smell of him—fabric softener and something that’s just Luke.
“I’ll take you.” He climbs out of bed, pulling on jeans and a wrinkled tee from the floor.
We head for the door, me still wrestling my hair into some kind of braid, him barefoot and sleepy-eyed behind me. I reach for the handle, pull it open, and—freeze.
Paislee is right there, in the hallway, stumbling backward out of a doorway at the end of it. Her hair is a mess, her shirt is inside out, and she’s clutching her shoes to her chest like she’s trying to hide them. She’s in total disarray, and my mind is trying to catch up to the scene in front of me.
“Oh, fuck,” I hear Luke say from behind me.
I stare at my sister. She stares back at me. We both continue to stare at each other in silence, and I feel my mouth hanging open, my brain completely failing to process what I’m seeing.
Paislee—my by-the-book, rule-following, straight-laced sister—just spent the night with the dean. The dean who is Luke’s brother. The dean who could get her fired.
Luke steps out from behind me, going completely still. “Bennett?” he says, his voice flat with disbelief too.
Bennett appears in his doorway, shirtless, his hair standing up in every direction. He looks between us, his face draining of color. “This isn’t?—”
Paislee bursts into laughter.
It’s not nervous laughter or embarrassed laughter. It’s full, genuine, belly-clutching laughter that echoes down the hallway. She doubles over, her shoes falling to the floor, and I watch in shock as tears form at the corners of her eyes.
“I—” I start, but I have no words. I look at Luke, who looks at Bennett, who looks at Paislee, who is still laughing.
“This is fine,” Paislee manages, straightening up and wiping her eyes. “This is completely fine. We’re all adults here.”
I stare at her for one more second, my brain still catching up, and then I start laughing too. It bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, unstoppable and ridiculous because this whole scenario is ridiculous! Us falling into bed with brothers, and I’m pretty confident my sister has never been in any man’s bed before.
“Oh my God,” I gasp out. “Paislee. You littleslut.”
“Madeline!” she gasps, but she’s grinning, her whole face lit up in a way I haven’t seen in years.
“I’m so proud of you.” I push off the doorframe and cross the hallway in three steps, throwing my arms around her. She smells like Bennett’s cologne and happiness, if that’s even a thing. “My little rule-breaker. My sister’s a rebel.”
