The old terracotta pot sat cracked on the windowsill, forgotten since last summer’s basil wilted. Aden traced its jagged edge with a thumb, the California sun warming his back through the dusty glass. He hadn’t planned on driving straight home after finals on Friday afternoon —hadn’t told anyone he was coming. The empty driveway felt wrong. Silence pooled in the foyer, thick as spilled paint.

“Mom? Dad?” His voice bounced off the vaulted ceilings. Nothing stirred except dust motes dancing in the hallway light. A sticky note on the fridge fluttered under the AC vent: ‘Bon Voyage! Back Sunday night. Pizza $$ in jar. Love ya! –Mom.’ Aden crumpled it. Sunday was three days away.

Footsteps pattered downstairs—bare feet on hardwood. Ellen appeared in the kitchen doorway, a towel turbaned on her head, droplets darkening her tank top. “Holy shit!” Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” Aden said flatly, dropping his duffel.

Ellen’s laugh was sharp. “Well, our parents ditched us. They’re floating on a cruise ship near Barbados sucking down piña coladas.” She tugged the towel free, damp hair tumbling past her shoulders. “You look like roadkill. Wanna salvage the night? My friend Chloe’s throwing a rager.”

Aden hesitated. The drive had left him hollow. “Will there be beer?”

Ellen grinned. “Better. Chloe’s dad stockpiles craft IPAs like doomsday prepper rations.” She hip-checked the fridge door open, then tossed him a bottle of Sam Adams. Condensation beaded cold in his palm. He downed it in 20 seconds. “Whoa! Cool your jets, college boy. The night is young. Leave your car. We’ll take an Uber.”

The party throbbed, bass vibrating up through the sidewalk. Inside, bodies pressed hot and close. Ellen’s friends swarmed Aden the second they crossed the threshold. “No way!” shrieked a redhead in glitter eyeshadow. “Ellen didn’t say her secret weapon was coming!” Another girl, all legs and smudged eyeliner, slung an arm around his neck. “Bet you’re sick of textbooks, huh?” Her breath smelled like cherry vodka. Ellen watched, sipping her drink, a smirk playing on her lips.

Beers blurred into shots. Someone passed Aden a joint; he inhaled deep, the smoke burning sweet. Laughter echoed tinny in his ears. The redhead whispered something crude about frat parties, her hand lingering on his thigh. Aden’s head swam. He caught Ellen’s eye across the room—she raised her glass in a slow, silent toast.

After a few hours Aden mumbled, “Need air,” then pushed through sweaty bodies toward the porch. The night air slapped him cool. Ellen followed, leaning against the railing. “Enjoying the fan club?” she teased, her voice thick. Her tank top slipped low; moonlight caught the curve of her breast.

Aden looked away fast. “They’re relentless,” he muttered.

She leaned in close to get through the pounding music. “I ordered a ride. You can stay if you want to go home with someone else.” Her breath warmed his neck. Before he could answer, she tugged his arm. “Hey, Uber’s here. That black Camry. Let’s ditch this circus.”

The car smelled of pine air freshener. Ellen slumped against him, her thigh pressing his. “Admit it,” she murmured, fingers tracing circles on his knee. “You liked Chloe staring at your dick all night.”

Aden’s pulse hammered. “Shut up, El.” She just laughed, low and throaty.

Back home, silence roared. Ellen flicked on the kitchen light, pulling a small baggie from her jeans. “Nightcap?” Her eyes glittered. They sat on the living room floor, passing the pipe across the coffee table, the weed hitting harder now. Aden’s limbs felt heavy, liquid.

Ellen was feeling a concoction of emotions. There was certainly the feeling of being very, very high. She also felt aroused, which was not unusual given that she was very, very high. She also felt a pang of jealousy at the way her friends had thrown themselves at her brother. She crawled around the coffee table toward him, her knee brushing his crotch, making him jump. “Relax,” she whispered, her hand sliding up his chest. Her lips hovered inches from his—sweet, sticky from punch. Resistance crumbled. He kissed her. Hard.

She gasped, pulling back. “Aden—stop. We can’t.” Her voice trembled, but her fingers dug into his shoulders.

He tasted beer and smoke on her breath. “Why?” he murmured, his thumb tracing the swell of her breast through her thin tank top.

Ellen shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut. “Because ... brothers and sisters don’t...” Her protest died as his mouth found her neck. A low moan escaped her. “Oh god,” she breathed, arching against him.

Her tank top slid off easily. Aden stared—her breasts were fuller than he’d imagined, pale in the dim light. He cupped one, thumb circling her hardening nipple. Ellen whimpered, guiding his head down. Her skin tasted like salt and sweat. “Yes,” she hissed, fingers tangling in his hair. He sucked, slow and deep, her hips grinding against his thigh. Her breath came in ragged gasps. “More,” she demanded, yanking his shirt over his head.