And I already love her to death—like a sister.

I love them both.

They have formed an unbreakable bond, an incredible friendship.

And I want them to continue being happy.

“I don’t understand why you’re not getting this one. It’s perfect!” My sister nags beside me, pulling the lavender shower curtain off the hook and tossing it in the cart. “I think it’s so cute.”

I reach into the cart and snatch it up, replacing it on the display. “I’m not putting this in my new condo. It’s purple. And floral.”

My little sister tsks. “More like a grayish lavender. Girls will love this.”

“Greyson, I don’t plan on parading a string of girls through my condo, and I am not going to look at this ugly-ass shower curtain every damn morning before work.”

She sighs loudly, relenting. “Fine, have it your way. I’m just trying to make your place a babe magnet.”

I laugh and grab hold of the cart. “Let’s just grab towels and everything else on the list, and then we can come back to this aisle. Right now, I’m over picking out shower curtains. Agreed?”

Greyson nods, her pale blonde ponytail swinging jauntily and settling on her shoulders. With tan skin from perpetually being out in the sun, pert nose, and large hazel eyes, my younger sister by five years is beautiful—inside and out.

Not to mention kind, sweet, and funny.

We are nothing alike.

Where she is all sunshine and light, I am stormy and dark. Greyson is five-foot-five and delicate; I am six-foot-two and imposing.

Unyielding.

I stand brooding beside her, leaning my elbows against the handle of the red cart as we trail aimlessly through the center aisle of her favorite supermarket chain. She lets me push the cart of household items and cleaning supplies I’ll need for my new condo, chatting next to me about her new boyfriend, Cal.

We arrive at the lighting department, and Greyson halts the cart, nudging me. “Didn’t you say you needed a lamp for your living room?”

I shrug, pausing to adjust the sunglasses perched on top of my head. “Yeah, but I was planning on just stealing one of Mom’s.”

Greyson tips her head back and laughs. “And you don’t think she’ll notice?”

I shrug again. “Maybe. But by the time she notices her lamp missing, I’ll be long gone. It’s a solid plan.”

“But she’ll see it at your housewarming party next weekend.” My sister knocks me with her hip. “Just go pick out a lamp, tightwad, and spare us all the drama.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “But explain to me why I have to pay thirty bucks for a lamp, then another twenty for the shade? That’s highway robbery. All I really need is a light bulb and a switch.”

But I comply, knowing it’s a losing argument. She’s going to make me buy a lamp no matter how long we stand here disagreeing. Striding with purpose down the lighting aisle, I eyeball them all and reach impulsively for a silver base with sleek lines.

There. This will do.

Now for a shade to coordinate; something simple with clean lines would work.

Sleek. Clean lines.

What the hell is wrong with me? I sound like a goddamn interior decorator.

“That one’s actually really nice!” Grey exclaims excitedly, helping me rearrange the shopping cart contents to make room for the lamp and shade among all my other crap.

“Gee, don’t sound so surprised,” I deadpan. “I’m not a total Neanderthal.”

“Well, I mean… not totally. Although your usual decoration of choice is Star Wars posters and The Incredible Hulk.”

I scoff loudly, crossing my muscular arms over my broad chest resentfully. The navy-blue tee shirt I shrunk doing my own laundry strains across my shoulders. “I’ll have you know, my condo in Seattle had none of those things, smartass.”

“I’m only teasing… Mom packed all that away when you moved after college. But I’m sure the boxes are in the basement somewhere if you’re interested.”

“I’m not,” I insist with a scowl.

Well. Maybe I am, a little. But only because I don’t have any artwork to hang on my white condo walls.

Dammit. There I go again, sounding like a goddamn decorator.

“Can we just grab what I need and get the hell out of here?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, hold your horses.” Greyson holds up the handwritten list I brought, consulting it like it’s a treasure map. “We still have to grab you a rug for your kitchen, and some gadgets. You need a wine bottle opener—” She’s skeptical. “Really? A wine bottle opener? That’s necessary?”

“I like wine sometimes. I need a new bottle opener.” If sighing sarcastically were a thing, I would do it right now. But since it’s not, I just do it loudly.

My sister relents, holding her hands up, one still clutching the list. “Okay, okay, calm down.” She checks the list again. “Wine bottle opener,” the brat emphasizes with an eye-roll. “Can opener. Water glasses. Garbage bags.”

Greyson’s voice fades out as I stare absentmindedly up the center aisle, the repetitive elevator music from Target’s sound system lulling me into a zombie-like state. A leggy blonde up ahead wearing a hot-pink baseball hat peaks my curiosity—long, tan legs in white shorts and a light gray shirt. I perk up considerably at the sight of her.

She stops in the middle of the aisle and gapes, arms laden with shampoo and hairspray and shit, and the pink lips I’m admiring part in a surprised O. I can see from here that her eyes are bright blue, set off by the color of her cap. Without hesitating, I scan that body from the long blonde hair falling loosely under her hat, to the round breasts beneath her simple shirt, up to the shocked expression on her face.

No. That’s not right—she looks spooked.

Like she’s seen a ghost.

When she darts quickly behind a display up ahead, abandoning her cart, I crane my neck, hoping to catch another glimpse.

Fail.

Dammit, where the hell did she go?

“Are you even listening to me?” my sister asks, threading her arm through mine to recapture my attention. Knowing me like she does, she takes pity on me. “Tell you what. Let’s quickly run over to the cleaning supplies, grab some detergent, and call it a day. Then we can grab lunch. Your treat, of course.”

Her head hits my shoulder, and she gives my arm an affectionate, sisterly squeeze.

“Of course.”

I put a trembling hand to my chest to calm this racing heart inside me. It’s going positively wild, and I place my other hand on the shopping cart for support. Somewhere in the next aisle over, I hear the tinkling laugh—one that I recognize. One that I’m all too familiar with, and I know it’s her.

Greyson Keller.

My brother’s girlfriend…

…grasping the arm of a guy I don’t recognize, pulling him towards a display of bed spreads, holding his tan, muscular arm firmly with one hand, and pointing to a quilt display with the other.

“You said you just wanted to quickly grab some more cleaning supplies,” I hear his deep voice grumble.

“I know what I said. But since we’re near the bedding, wouldn’t it be nice to roll around on crisp, clean sheets?”

The guy’s hesitation is followed by more grumbling. “I guess so…”

This is not happening right now.

I am not witnessing Cal’s girlfriend cheating on him with another guy. I can’t be.

I refuse to believe it. Squeezing my blue eyes shut, I lean my limp body against the metal rack of pillows behind me, and I use the rack to support myself. My legs are weak, wobbly, and I lower my palms to steady my knees, taking a few deep breaths.