Chapter 25: 🌶️A Shaky Brotherly Façade

The smell of coffee follows me all the way to the kitchen. I barely slept, but there’s no choice—I have to face the day. I take a deep breath as I step through the door, bracing myself for whatever’s coming.

Emma is already at the table, a half-eaten piece of toast in one hand, her phone resting beside her. She doesn’t look up right away, but when she does ... her eyes meet mine. No hostility. No coldness. Just another morning.

And then, completely unexpected, she speaks first.

Emma: “Did you sleep well?” I freeze for a second, caught off guard.

Me: “Yeah ... and you?” She shrugs slightly before nibbling on the edge of her toast.

Emma: “Mmmh, I’m good.” Her voice is calm, almost relaxed. Like nothing had ever gone to shit between us.

I pour myself a coffee in silence, trying to keep a neutral expression. But inside, I’m a mess. It’s the first time in ages she’s talking to me like this. Like before. Like ... she’s decided to move on.

And for a second, I let myself believe it.

Emma: “You got a game this weekend?”

Me: “No, nothing planned. I don’t even know what I’m gonna do with my time.” She nods as she finishes her toast.

Emma: “Weird. You’re usually always busy with that.”

Me: “Yeah ... but this time, there weren’t enough players, so no game.” She nods, like it’s nothing.

I take a sip of coffee, and for the first time in weeks, I feel real relief. A normal conversation. A fucking normal moment.

Emma finishes her coffee and gets up.

She leaves the room, just like that.

I stay there, alone, cup in hand.

Fuck ... maybe it’s over.

Maybe we can finally move forward.

The parents have been gone for a while now, and the afternoon stretches on in an almost pleasant calm. I’m ironing some clothes, half-watching the TV. Mom asked me to do it before she left, and I agreed without thinking much. It keeps me busy, keeps my mind from wandering too much.

The heat from the iron slowly rises, the fabric smooths out under my hands, and the steady hum of the TV fills the space with background noise. Everything is peaceful.

Until I hear footsteps on the stairs.

Slow. Light.

I look up, and instantly, my body tenses.

Emma walks into the living room like she’s alone. No glance in my direction, no hesitation in her steps. Just that fucking workout outfit hugging every inch of her body. A black legging so tight it looks painted onto her skin, a short tank top revealing a glimpse of her stomach—and making it damn obvious she’s not wearing a bra underneath.

My eyes move on their own.

Her hips sway slightly with every step. That legging rides up high, way too high, clinging to the perfect curve of her ass so tightly it almost knocks the breath out of me.

A rush of heat surges through me, immediately followed by confusion.

She moves closer, still not sparing me a glance, and stops near the couch.

Then, as if nothing’s out of the ordinary, she starts stretching.

First, a slow back stretch, just enough to arch her body and highlight every curve. Then, a wider movement—her legs spreading slightly—and that’s it. I lose focus again, my eyes locking onto every little detail.

Fuck.

I sit up a bit, throat dry, the iron completely forgotten on the side.

Me: “Emma ... what the hell are you doing?” My voice comes out harsher than I intended. Almost accusing.

Emma: “Uh ... just stretching. Needed some space.” Her voice is light, almost innocent, like my question is completely stupid. Like I’m the one making a big deal out of nothing.

She lifts her arms above her head, arching her back slightly, and my gaze drifts—without permission—down to her exposed stomach. Then, slowly, she pivots to the side and bends forward, hands sliding down to her ankles in one smooth motion that pushes her hips back.

Her leggings stretch tight over her ass, hugging every inch of it. And my whole body tenses.

What the fuck...?

I tear my eyes away, but my heart pounds harder. A mix of confusion and tension coils in my gut.

What the hell is she playing at?!

She keeps going, completely unfazed. Every movement feels deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Or maybe ... maybe I’m just losing my mind.

Me: “Emma, you should do that somewhere else.”

I exhale slowly, trying to keep my cool. My tone stays calm but firm.

She lifts her head slightly and tilts it to the side, feigning innocence.

Emma: “Why?” Her voice is soft, almost playful. Then, she straightens up, runs a hand through her hair, and shifts position.

Slowly, Emma slides one leg forward, the other stretching back, lowering herself into a perfect split, her back arching slightly. Her leggings cling to every curve, highlighting the tension in her muscles beneath the fabric.