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He threw his hands in the air. “Well, how was I supposed to know that? I don’t know him.”

“But you know me, Ricky, and that should have been enough for you to trust my choices in who I want to be with.”

My chest heaved. The cold from the marble bit into my palms because I’d slapped them down at some point during my rant. Probably a subconscious reaction to keep from throwing hands with my brother.

We stared at each other in loaded silence for a long moment, and then he sighed, dropping his arms to his side. “You’re right.” The edge in his voice from earlier had lessened.

I nearly choked on my tongue at the admission. I didn’t think he’d ever said those two words to me before.

He waved a hand at my dramatic coughing fit, smiling.

“Okay, okay. Enough. I get it. You didn’t expect to hear me say that. I do know you, Ari.” He smirked. “And I’ve never seen a girl cut down a man the way you do. I’ve always known that whoever could put up with your ass would be a good man—you wouldn’t settle for anything less. But you’re going to have to cut me some slack, okay?” he said, his eyes coming back up to meet mine. “My whole life, I was told I needed to take care of you and protect you. How can I do that when you live hundreds of miles away? Or when you don’t tell me shit?”

I moved closer, relenting and hugging his center like I’d done since we were kids. “Pendejo, you can do all those things by being there when I need you, not by showing up unannounced and lecturing me.” I pushed away. “And if you want me to trust you enough to tell you about what I’m doing, then I need to know you have my back and aren’t going to run off and tell my Dad.”

He looked away sheepishly, and I cut him off when he went to argue.

“I get it. You’re close with my Dad, but he treats you differently than he does me, and I am not going to sit around holding my breath for that to change. This is my life, Ricky. Mine. I will not sit around and waste it.”

He studied me, brows pulled together like he’d never considered this before.

Of course he hadn’t. Why would he?

He’d been allowed to make his own decisions since we were teens, while mine had always been questioned and dismissed.

“Alright.” He nodded. “I promise that whatever you tell me stays between us,” Ricky said sincerely before pulling away and pointing at me. “Pero quiero conocer a este cabrón, ¿entiendes?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, you can meet my boyfriend. Now enough weird emotional shit. Let’s go get some food.”

“Does Texas even have good Mexican food?” he asked, grabbing his hat and following me to the elevator.

“Eh. It’s not San Jose, but I’ve found a few places. Come on, I’ll pay for your tacos just to prove I can survive in the world,” I teased over my shoulder, catching the middle finger he threw my way.

The moment the apartment door closed behind us, it dawned on me that at no point during that argument did I think about my relationship with Dalton as being fake…

How the hell did I used to start getting ready to go out at ten?

I’d probably been hopped up on adrenaline, because when Gracie and I managed to go out we’d had to lie through our teeth to convince our parents of where we were going, so we made the most of it. But now? Ten rolled around, and my ass was begging for bed.

The low murmurs of a conversation came from the guest room, and the chismosa in me desperately wanted to stick my ear to the door to hear who my brother was talking to.

If I were being honest, I was dragging my feet and looking to distract myself, making every possible pit stop on my way to Dalton’s bedroom. Who would have guessed the scariest thing I’d done since moving to Dallas was walking into a man’s bedroom?

Another buzz went off, practically burning a hole in the back pocket of my shorts. I knew whose name I’d see on the screen. Dalton had been texting me all night. The first few were genuinely wondering how it was going since I’d abruptly cut off our phone call, but after he knew I hadn’t been hauled back to San Jose, the texts had become way…dirtier.

Thatcher:

Don’t forget my photo

Also, I decided clothes are *not* optional

Blankets aren’t optional either

I didn’t answer.

Sexting while your older brother sits across from you putting down some tacos al pastor was not my idea of a good time, but now…

His bedroom door stood before me, tempting me like the phone in my pocket. I pushed it open, flicking the light switch. A warm glow illuminated the room, and my foot hesitated over the threshold. Being in there felt intimate, like seeing a part of Dalton’s life most never would.