Kissed by My Best Friend's Brother

The first time I met my best friend's older brother, he kissed me in a dark kitchen and scared me half to death.

Mia Cross and I had been inseparable since freshman orientation. I knew her coffee order, her worst ex's middle name, and exactly how long she could study before she started sending me videos of baby goats. I also knew she had an older brother, Adrian, but for almost three years he had existed only as a family legend.

He ran part of the Cross family's investment company, spent most of his time overseas, and was apparently terrifying enough that Mia lowered her voice whenever she complained about him.

"He's coming home for good," she told me that Friday night as we sprawled across her bed. "Mom says he finally moved the last of his projects back."

"The tyrant returns."

"Exactly. If you meet him, don't let him intimidate you."

——

At midnight, I went downstairs for water in one of Mia's oversized T-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. The Cross house was quiet, the hall lit only by the dim lamps over the kitchen island.

A man stood by the refrigerator.

He was tall enough that my first thought was absurdly practical: Mia had failed to mention her brother was built like a doorway. His white dress shirt was open at the collar, his sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked tired, expensive, and completely at home.

His gaze settled on me.

"You're Lily."

It wasn't a question.

I tightened my hand around the glass. "And you're Adrian."

He crossed the kitchen before I decided whether to move. The counter pressed into my back. He planted one hand beside me, close enough that I caught the clean scent of rain and cedar on his shirt.

"You know who I am," he said.

"Mia talks about you. Mostly as a warning."

His mouth shifted, not quite a smile. "Does she?"

I tried to step around him. He caught my chin, bent, and kissed me.

Shock held me still for one terrible second. His mouth was warm and certain, as if this were the end of a conversation we had already had.

Then anger broke through.

I shoved his chest. "No."

He stopped.

The sudden space between us felt almost as startling as the kiss. His hand dropped from my face, but his eyes stayed fixed on mine.

"Don't do that again," I said, though my voice shook.

Something hard moved through his expression. Not annoyance. Restraint.

"All right," he said.

I didn't wait to hear anything else. I ran upstairs, locked Mia's bedroom door, and stood with my back against it until I could breathe normally.

Mia slept through the entire thing.

I lay awake beside her, furious at him and almost as angry at myself because my lips still tingled. I had never been kissed like that. I had barely been kissed at all. Fear and unwanted curiosity twisted together until I couldn't tell one from the other.

By morning, I had decided to go home. I would think there. Maybe I would tell Mia. Maybe I would never enter the Cross house again.

Mia ruined that plan over breakfast.

"Remember that sculptor I told you about? Elias Bennett?"

I forgot Adrian long enough to sit up. "The reclusive one?"

"He's doing a private exhibition downtown. Tickets sold out in seven minutes."

"Why would you tell me this? That's cruel."

She grinned. "Because Adrian got us in. He's driving."

Across the table, Adrian lifted his coffee and watched me over the rim of the cup.

I should have said no.

Instead, I thought of Elias Bennett's work and heard myself ask, "What time?"