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“Who the hell is here so early?” I groan, rubbing my eyes.
Dylan stands and quickly throws on a pair of sweatpants, chuckling. “It’s eleven in the morning, petal.”
Oops. “Oh,” I laugh, freeing myself of the rest of the blankets and rushing to tug on a hoodie over my pajamas. I’m pulling fluffy socks onto my feet when Dylan opens the bedroom door, shirtless and barefoot because apparently this man doesn’t feel the cold.
“There’s no one scheduled to come out today. I’ll go see who it is and tell them to fuck off.”
The comment is so typicallyDylanthat I burst into laughter, fumbling with my socks as I hurry to catch up with him.
I’m halfway down the stairs when he opens the door.
“I hope you have a fucking good reason for waking us—”
His words stop suddenly, and as I finally reach the entryway, I realize exactly why.
Because it’s not a stranger at my door or someone with the wrong address.
It’s my brother.
My brother, who’s currently gaping at a very shirtless, very rumpled Dylan, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on land.
Oh, shit. This is bad. Between the lack of shirt, the annoyed growl about waking us up, and me standing behind him in my pajamas with my hair no doubt looking like an insane tangle around my face thanks to the fact I didn’t stop to brush it…Well, it’s obvious what Dylan and I have been doing.
The thought crosses my mind right before Harry swings. I scream as my brother’s fist connects with Dylan’s cheek, rushing forward to squeeze in beside Dylan, trying to put myself between them. Dylan’s strong arm holds me back, and he doesn’t so much as grunt in reaction to my brother punching him.
“Fair enough,” he says instead, rubbing his hand over his cheek. “You gonna hit me again or can we talk first?”
Harry looks like he prefers the former option, and I refuse to let that happen again.
“Harry!” I shout, turning my brother’s attention to me. “What the hell? Why are you even here?”
“I came to see how my little sister was getting on with her new house,” Harry starts, clearly seething. His face is red with rage, and his hands are still balled into his fists like he might try for another hit. “Instead, I come here to see that my best fucking friend is taking advantage of her!”
I have never considered myself an angry or even confrontational person. I avoid arguments and hate upsetting people, though my teasing with Dylan is different because he never takes it seriously and it usually ends with me getting what we both want anyway. But now, standing between my brother and the man I’m falling in love with, I feel red-hot anger flood me.
How dare he say Dylan is taking advantage of me? I want this, I chose this, I’ll keep choosing him.
“Seriously, man. What the fuck? I can’t believe you’d—”
I’ve had enough of this. “Harry!” He keeps talking, ignoring me in favor of shouting at Dylan. I raise my voice, louder than his, forcing him to listen to me now. “Harry, shut up and listen!”
Harry stops in his tracks, finger still pointing in Dylan’s face, mouth hanging open. Slowly, he turns his head to look down at me, eyes wide with shock.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you raise your voice before,” he comments, his own voice much quieter now.
“I’ve never needed to before,” I snap back, putting my hands on my hips and glaring up at him. “Now shut your mouth and listen to me, okay?”
Dutifully, clearly still shocked by my shouting, he snaps his mouth shut. It’s true. I don’t think I’ve ever shouted at him like this before, even when he annoyed me because I always knew he was just looking out for me. He’s my big brother, and I love him, but I refuse to let him make assumptions like this.
I really should’ve told him about this when he called to ask how I was doing, but it felt wrong to tell him over the phone. If he’d just told me he was coming to see me rather than just turning up unannounced, I’d have prepared for this better, rather than him finding out this way.
I can hardly blame him for being shocked and angry, but this is just ridiculous. He may see me as his kid sister still, but I’m a grown-ass woman dammit! And I need him to see that.
“Dylan hasn’t taken advantage of anything,” I hiss. “You’ve known him for like twenty years. Do you really think he’s the kind of man who would do something like that? Besides, this isn’t some one-sided fling or whatever the hell is going through your mind.”
“What is it then? Because from where I’m standing, my friend—who’s damn near forty years old—is fucking around with my sister who’s barely even an adult!”
I jerk like his words are a physical blow. Barely an adult? That hurts more than I want to admit, and I can’t hide it when my eyes fill with tears. I know Harry is protective of me, but does he really think this little of me?
