“I’m not naked. I’ve got briefs on.”
I grin, pressing a kiss to his palm. “For now.”
And for a moment, my brain wanders—because there’s always a part of me thinking about responsibilities, about the people I care for.
Greg nudges my hip. “You’re staring again. What’s up?”
I shake my head, smiling sheepishly. “Just thinking about Ashley.”
Greg quirks an eyebrow. “What about?”
“She’s probably drowning in some fifteen-page paper or cramming for an exam. She’s stubborn, brilliant… and way too independent for her own good.” I pause, resting my forehead against his arm. “I’m her big brother. But I’m also her guardian. I worry about her, you know? But I also know that I can… I don’t know, still have my own life.”
Greg grins thoughtfully, brushing a hand over mine. “You’re a wonderful big brother. But you know what? I think she’d approve of this—us. Seeing you happy, I mean.”
I let out a soft laugh. “She’d probably roll her eyes and say something like, ‘Finally, Sean, about time someone made you smile like that.’ But yeah… she’d be happy for me. For us.”
Greg nudges me again, softer this time. “Good. Now stop staring at my ass and come eat, will you?”
“I’m… not,” I lie, even as my heart rate picks up. How can he be so calm, so confident, so completely himself while simultaneously making me feel like the luckiest guy alive?
“Uh-huh,” he says, smirking, adjusting his glasses and sticking his meaty ass out. “Keep staring. I like it.”
I chuckle, squeezing his firm butt. “Gods,” I murmur, “how did I get so lucky?”
Greg grins over his shoulder, flipping a waffle with practiced ease. “Wow, you must really love waffles. Noted.”
I laugh again, leaning closer. “No, I mean… you. I was lucky to find you.”
He sets the spatula down, turning to face me fully, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I mean technically, I found you. You were about to strangle your computer into submission, remember?”
He pauses, eyes softening behind his glasses, thenleans down and kisses me, slow and deliberate. Not frantic, not rushed. Just us, tangled together in the warm morning light, in the smell of syrup and butter and the faint tang of flour dusting his skin.
I glance at the clock. Ashley’s probably still asleep in her dorm, blissfully unaware that her big brother is wrapped around a gorgeous guy in his tiny kitchen. I think about how much I’ve tried to hold it all together for her over the years—keeping her organized, helping her study, occasionally bribing her with snacks to get her to do chores or focus on schoolwork. And now I realize she’s grown up. Or mostly, anyway. I can let myself be happy. I can have this with Greg, without guilt, without hesitation.
Greg fiddles with the waffle iron like it’s a rogue network switch refusing to cooperate. My fingers trace idle patterns over his arms as he works. “You’re ridiculous,” I murmur, soft and affectionate.
He chuckles. “Yeah, but you’re stuck with me.”
And I smile, thinking about Ashley, about Greg, about how messy, chaotic, absurd life can be—and how, for the first time, I feel like I can handle it all.
The waffles are perfect, golden-brown little discs of heaven, and Greg sets them on the counter like he’s presenting a trophy. I grab a plate and fork, trying to act casual, while my heart does backflips. I can’t stop watching him—the way he moves around the tiny kitchen in nothing but his tighty-whities, humming, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, flour sprinkled across his emerald skin.
Idig in, first bite warm and sweet, and can’t resist grinning. “Wow. Okay. These are… life-changing.”
He smirks, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like some proud nerdy lion. “I told you. Breakfast-related problem-solving is my specialty.”
I laugh. “I might have to make you cook for me every morning.”
“Might?” he teases, arching an eyebrow. “I like your hesitation.”
I shake my head, smiling into my fork. Then I pause, thinking about Ashley again. I haven’t been able to check in with her this week—her classes are brutal this semester, a mix of advanced political science and literature. I know if she needs anything she’ll call, but I still worry. Always. But knowing I’ve got Greg here, knowing I have someone who makes me feel… safe, grounded, loved—it makes the weight of it all a little lighter.
“You okay?” Greg asks.
I look up at him, fork halfway to my mouth. “Yeah. Just… thinking about stuff. Work, Ashley, life stuff. You know.”
Greg reaches over and nudges my shoulder with his hand. “Well, lucky for her, she’s got you. And lucky for me, I’ve got you, too.”
