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He swings his arm over the back of my chair. "Can't a big brother visit his little sister?"
"You always have a motive," I joke.
He grins, but it's forced.
"What's wrong?” I inch back, searching his eyes for an answer.
He chews his lip and scans the library nervously. "You seem happy,” he replies, his voice tinged with worry.
My brows furrow. "Am I supposed to be sad?"
His eyes widen. "No, that's not what I meant. I just don't want to ruin your mood."
I pivot in my chair. "Spit it out."
He looks me dead in the eye, more like my dad than my brother. After our parents died, Peter took on the roles of parent, brother, and friend. Peter got the short end of the stick. You should have seen him try to give me the sex talk; even worse was when I asked him to buy me tampons. I think he got his first gray hair that day. Henry, my other brother, parties. And I’m somewhere in between the two—I try to be the responsible sister who also wants to enjoy college and have a good time.
Peter... well, he just worries. He's working at our parents' company now, aiming to be CEO and keep the company in our name. It wasn’t easy to take that job; he finished college a year before Henry, his twin. He gave up having fun, partying, and dating. Peter has given up a lot so Henry and I can have a somewhat normal life. The board loves Peter, and since Peter, Henry, and I have controlling shares, the board has to work with us. Peter is determined to succeed in all aspects of his life, including acting as my father.
He runs a hand through his brownish-red hair. "Are you seeing Andrew Sinclair?” he blurts out. I don’t miss the way he grinds out Andrew’s name.
Oh, God. Discussing my dating life with my overprotective brother is the last thing I want. That’s why I usually talk to Harper. My best friend thinks like a man but explains like a woman. She's the one who taught me about the birds and the bees after Peter’s lecture completely failed. Harper even demonstrated how to perform oral sex on a cucumber, claiming it’s more realistic than a banana.
"Define 'seeing,'" I air-quote.
"Poppy," Peter stresses, his eyes turning cold.
I mirror him in a playful tone, "Peter."
He cracks his right thumb, a sign he's annoyed.
"I'm not a kid, Peter."
He snorts.
"I'm not. You and Henry bring girls home all the time."
"That's different."
"That's sexist," I counter.
"You're my sister." He cracks another knuckle.
I get it, tough guy; you want to snap the neck of any guy that gets close to me.
I nod. "Who is a woman in her twenties."
He rests his elbow on the table, rubbing his chin as he looks off into the distance. "I don't like him."
I laugh. "You'll never like anyone I date."
"So, you are dating him?" he questions, his jaw tightening as he crosses his arms.
I shrug. "We're taking things slow. Very, very slow." That seems to reassure him slightly.
The truth is, Andrew Sinclair is one of the most popular guys on campus. He's got the looks to land a modeling contract, the athletic ability of a top athlete, and an infamous smile.
I still have no idea why a guy like Andrew is interested in me. I’m not a deflated, insecure girl. I know I’m pretty, but I just don’t think I’m Andrew’s level of pretty.
