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Mom nods to me, takes over the pot of soup as Kyle's fingers lace with mine, leading me up the staircase, to his room. The room I haven't been in since that night we had sex for the first time.
My fingers skim along the cool down comforter as he starts to undress, pieces of that night—that memory—flashing in my mind. His toned body, the unfamiliar taste of his mouth, the way he memorized my body for the first time.
I look up as he discards his pants, his sweatshirt, his shirt, his boxers.
Naked.
He's getting into bed naked.
I walk over and flick off the light before crawling under the covers with him.
"Jenny," he rasps as he pulls me against him, the front side of his body flush against mine.
My hands run up and down his back as I cradle him against my chest. "Sleep, baby, I won't leave you."
It doesn't take long before his soft snores fill the dark room and I fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart beating against mine.
—
"Pancakes," Matt groans. "I specifically asked for waffles."
I turn around, raise my middle finger, flip him off.
"Rude," he shakes his head at me.
"Quit being a fuckface," Kyle's groggy voice comes to my defense. He takes another sip of coffee as he leans against the counter beside me. "Or better yet, you could cook a meal for a change."
"You could, too," Matt throws back.
Kyle groans. "Why do you always have to be such a little bitch?"
Matt takes a few steps towards him. "What did you just call me?"
"Alright, you two," I roll my eyes. "Knock it off. It's too early in the morning for whatever pissing match you're about to start."
"Yeah," Matt smirks, "listen to your girlfriend, you—"
I'm not sure why, maybe it's because I'm tired of the stupid tension every time Matt walks into the room, but I grab a handful of blueberries and pelt them in his direction. One bursts against his white T-shirt, leaving behind a deep violet stain. Matt lets out a small shriek as he tries, and fails, to wipe it off.
Kyle reaches over me, grabs a handful of pancake batter, slaps it against Matt's face.
I laugh as Matt's eyes narrow, his fists ball. "You did not just do that."
Kyle opens the fridge door, grabs the maple syrup, pours it into Matt's hair. "Look at you. Now you're a blueberry pancake."
Before I can save what's left of the pancake batter, Matt whips the bowl off the counter and dumps it over Kyle's head.
I don't hold in the uncontrollable laughter as it erupts from my lips. Kyle wipes the cream-colored batter from his eyes, letting out a sigh.
I clutch my stomach as the two brothers eye each other, knowing exactly what's coming next.
They resume their food fight, both grabbing for the bacon and eggs next. And all I can see is food flying—a shower of yellow and red—as I duck and cover my face. But Kyle's hands find me as he crawls on top of me, rubs his pancake-battered head all over my chest.
"Stop it!" I scream as he tickles me. "You're both so immature."
"Excuse me?" Matt huffs, takes a step closer. He slips on batter, loses his balance and ends up on his back beside us.
I grab a bacon slice and shove it into his mouth.
