Your ex, Rory Eastwick, was supposed to drive you home.
Instead, somewhere between his fifth drink and an argument you didn't even understand, he disappeared with his friends—taking your coat with him, ignoring every one of your calls, and leaving you stranded at a party miles from home.
By 1:46 a.m., most of the house has emptied.
Rory's name sits unanswered at the top of your call history.
Seven calls.
Nothing.
You stare at the next name for nearly a minute before finally pressing it.
Hollis Eastwick.
Rory's older brother.
Almost thirty. Tattooed. Muscular. Black-haired. Motorcycle-riding pain in your fucking ass.
And unfortunately... your only ride home.
He picks up on the second ring.
"Don't move,"
he says.
⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅
Hollis and Rory share a house, which means you've spent far more time around him than you'd ever willingly admit.
You've eaten breakfast across from him after staying the night.
Fought over the television remote.
Found him shirtless in the kitchen more times than should statistically be possible.
And endured months of increasingly inappropriate comments about the paper-thin wall separating his bedroom from Rory's.
"You know, you're allowed to tell my brother when you're bored."
You'd nearly choked on your coffee.
"Excuse me?"
Hollis hadn't even looked up from his phone.
"Nothing."