"Holy fuck."
Those are the first words that escape my lips, low and stunned, as I nearly drop my phone on the tiled kitchen floor.
Standing in the doorway, framed by the warm afternoon sun like some kind of Greek god in jeans and a fitted black tee, is my younger brother's best friend– Andrew Carter.
Oh! Point of correction: my hot as hell, should be illegal, grew-up and glowed-up younger brother's best friend.
I blink. Twice.
It doesn't help.
He's now taller than I remember and broad-shouldered with that sharp jawline that could cut glass. His hair is messy in the best way, like he ran his hands through it a thousand times this morning. And that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth?
Dangerously smug, and sinful.
"Penny?" he says, his voice deeper than I recall. He steps fully into the kitchen, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Wow. You look… different."
My brain short-circuits.
"Different?" I echo, clutching my phone like it's the only thing helping me hold on to sanity. "As in, glowing-birthday-girl different? Or, like, aging-disaster different?"
He chuckles. That low, rumbling kind of laugh that settles way too low in my stomach.
"You look… hot," he says without shame, his eyes dragging down my body before flicking back up to my face. "I didn't expect you to answer the door."
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
I am not about to let Andrew Carter catch me flustered.
"It's my house," I shoot back, straightening. "Why wouldn't I answer the door?"
He shrugs, stepping into the kitchen like he owns the place. "Your mom said you were coming home after your birthday weekend. I didn't know I'd be seeing you this soon."
Well... Yeah, neither did I.
Because seeing him now, all grown up and exuding alpha male energy, is really, really messing with my head. The Andrew I remember was lanky, awkward, and constantly getting in trouble with my brother. But this version?
This version is pure sin.
My gaze accidentally drops to his abs beneath the thin tee. Just for a second.
Okay, maybe three.
"You staring, Penny?" he teases.
I snap my eyes back up. "Yes, I mean—no, I wasn't staring."
He laughs again, shaking his head as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge like this is just a normal Tuesday and not the beginning of my mental breakdown.
"You've grown up too," he says, leaning against the counter. "Didn't expect you to be so… womanly."
Womanly?! Oh, now he's playing with fire.
"Well, you're still annoying," I say sweetly, flipping my hair over my shoulder and walking past him, determined to escape to the living room before I combust. "So some things never change."
I barely make it to the couch before my knees give out and I sink into the cushions.
What the hell was that?
The air is too thick. My skin is buzzing. And suddenly I'm very aware that I'm braless under this tank top and wearing the shortest lounge shorts I own.
I didn't know he'd be here.
No one told me Andrew freaking Carter would be waiting in my kitchen like a perfectly wrapped temptation I didn't ask for.
Nick–my younger brother walks in a few seconds later, grinning as he throws an arm around Andrew like nothing's changed. "I told you she'd be home early."
"Didn't think she'd try to bite my head off," Andrew jokes, flashing me a wink.
I roll my eyes, but my heart skips a beat.
This is going to be a problem.
Dinner is chaos in the usual Monroe family way. Mom's yelling about the casserole burning, Dad's making passive-aggressive comments about Nick's job, and Nick is too distracted showing Andrew some dumb gym video to care.
I pick at my plate and try not to stare across the table.
'Try' being the key word.
Because he keeps staring at me.
Every time I look up, he's watching me. Quiet, and focused. Like he's trying to figure me out.
And every brush of his knee under the table? Every little graze of skin could pass as an accident but isn't.
Yeah. I feel all of it.
My pulse is loud in my ears. My fork slips in my hand. I need air.
"I'm going outside," I mutter, pushing back from the table.
"Penny," Mom scolds. "We're not finished."
"I'm just stepping out for a second."
I don't wait for permission.
The night air is cooler than inside, but my skin is still burning. I sit on the poolside lounger, my legs curled under me, watching the ripples in the water dance under the moonlight.
It should calm me. But it doesn't.
A minute later, the door slides open behind me. Heavy footsteps follow.
He's here.
"Enjoying yourself?" Andrew's voice is softer now, like he knows we've crossed some invisible line and we're both pretending not to notice.
I glance at him.
He's changed into grey sweatpants and nothing else. His chest is bare, his hair is messier, and his eyes… darker.
My heart stumbles.
"Yup," I breathe.
He sits next to me. Not too close, but close enough for me to feel his warmth seeping into my skin.
"I meant what I said earlier," he say
I don't answer. I don't trust myself to.
"You've always been beautiful. But now?" He tilts his head. "You're dangerously... hot"
I swallow hard.
"Don't say things like that," I whisper.
"Why not?"
"Because we both know you're not supposed to."
He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. His voice drops. "What if I don't care?"
I turn toward him fully, my breath catching when our eyes meet.
His hand lifts like he wants to touch me—my cheek, maybe my jaw but it hovers there.
Probably waiting for permission.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs.
I don't.
And that's the real problem.
Because I don't want him to.