Honestly, I'm not sure why Brendon trusts me with his kid sister.

Or why he's willing to help me.

But I'm earning that trust.

Whatever it takes.

I text him a promise I'll keep an eye on Em.

He texts back something about helping her with clearing out her old apartment and finding a new place.

And a thanks.

Fuck, it feels good.

Him caring. Expecting help from me. Believing I'm a worthwhile guy.

I'm not used to it.

I need to deserve it.

If that means helping Emma without touching her—

I can do that.

For a while, I turn my attention to my sketchbook. But it doesn't distract from the questions swirling around my head.

It's too close. Too personal.

When I draw, my subconscious takes over.

All that shit stirring inside me, the shit I don't want to face, is right there.

On the paper.

I'm not sure what this means—a bottle in the shape of the heart, broken on the floor, bleeding whiskey like it's blood—but I know what it means about me.

Footsteps move up the stairs. The hallway light turns off.

Emma moves back downstairs.

Yeah, she's a smoking hot woman with a smart mouth and perfect tits.

But she's also my new roommate.

I need to get over how much I want her.

I close my sketchbook and move into the hallway.

She stops halfway down the stairs. Turns back to me with irritation in her dark eyes. "You don't have to spy."

"I'm not." I'm not a good liar. Not sober. The words are awkward on my tongue.

Disbelief spreads over her face.

Yeah, I'm obvious. But I can still spin this. "You finish studying?"

"Yes, Dad, thanks."

"Usually, I save the daddy shit until date three."

She fights a smile. "Gross."

"Don't knock it till you try it."

Emma laughs as she moves down the stairs. "You are not into that."

"You sure?" I follow her to the living room.

She grabs the remote and plops onto the couch. Her eyes fix on me. They study me.

Her eyes are lighter than Brendon's, but they have the same intensity.

"Mostly." She taps the remote a few times. The DVD menu loads. Hercules.

A Disney cartoon.

Not what I expected.

"Why?" I ask.

"Why am I sure you're not into the Daddy thing?"

I nod.

She tilts her head to one side, studying me. "It's a vibe."

"That's it?"

"That's it." Her eyes flit to the TV then back to me. "Are you gonna stand there?"

"Yeah."

"Don't. It's weird." She pats the spot next to hers. "Sit down and watch the movie or go back to your room."

"What if I want to stand here and watch the movie?"

"Then I'll blast Bayside all night."

"What if I like shitty emo music?"

"Then you wouldn't enjoy something as quality as Bayside."

I chuckle. "You're the one using it as a threat."

"Used to Brendon's reactions."

Truth be told, I enjoy that particular style of music. But it makes me think of my older brother. And that's a minefield. "I have better taste."

"That's setting the bar low."

My chuckle gets louder. Heartier. Fuck, there is something about her. This spark. She's always had it. But it's different now.

Or maybe it's that I'm different now.

She grabs a chocolate bar from the table, unwraps it, breaks off a square. "I'm going to say thanks for dinner, then we're even. You stop spying. I stop spying."

It's a smart offer.

She's a sharp kid, trying to blackmail me into backing off.

But it's obvious she's bluffing.

"And if I report every detail?" I move down the stairs. Take a seat on the couch next to her.

She turns to me with a glare. "You won't."

I shrug won't I? But it's not nearly as casual and aloof as it should be. I no longer know how to pull off casual and aloof.

"He warned me not to fuck with you."

"Oh?" This time, I'm better at playing cool. I keep my voice disaffected. I lean back on the couch, shrug my shoulders, spread my legs.

"Yeah. But he told you to keep an eye on me."

"And?"

"Don't you find that strange?"

No. But I can't exactly explain the why to her.

"He even told me not to fuck you."

My balls tighten. That sounds too good on her lips. It's putting too many ideas in my head.

"I didn't float the idea or anything. But he had to add it." She breaks her square of chocolate in half and sets a piece on her tongue. "Here's my question."

"Yeah?"

"Is that for me or you?"

My shrug is stiff. Awkward. I can do babysitter. I can do watchful older brother. I can't do honest conversations.

"Supposedly, you're not in the headspace for casual sex."

"I'm not."

"Because?"

Because I haven't fucked someone sober since I was her age. "Why are you here?"

"Trouble with management. No big deal." There's something in her voice.

It's a lie.

But I'm not pushing it.

I can't afford her pushing back.

"What about you?" she asks.

"Needed a place to crash."

"Your old one?"

"Long story."

"Mhmm." She turns her attention back to the TV.

I have no response to that.

I should probably come up with a plausible explanation.

But it's hard to concentrate with her this close.

"It's been awhile since I've had a roommate." Not counting rehab. "I'll try not to step on your toes."

"Except for when you're babysitting?"

"I'll keep an eye. That's it."

"Right."

"You can do the same."

"I will."

"Good."

"Good." She breaks another square from her bar of chocolate and hands it to me. "Now be quiet or go upstairs."

My fingers brush hers as I take the chocolate.

It sends an electric current though me.

It's a tiny thing. Almost imperceptible. The kind of shit I was too trashed to notice.

But it's there.

And, fuck, being able to feel it—

It's everything.