A knock on my door around seven in the morning woke me. I wasn't a heavy sleeper; that's why I didn't have an alarm clock or sleep with my phone on Focus at night. The knocking stayed persistent until I finally yelled.

"What do you want, Brayden?"

Oh yes. I am not a morning person.

The door swung open and he walked in, while I buried my head under all the excessive pillows I'd forgotten to toss out last night.

Brayden was in a tracksuit, holding a cup of coffee, when I peered through a little opening I'd made in the blanket.

"I'd like it better if we were talking," he said, setting the cup on the nightstand for me.

"I'm not mad at you about last night, but I'm beginning to now, since you've interrupted my sleep," I groaned. He chuckled and leaned over to kiss my head.

Brayden was only twenty, but he lived in a contemporary condominium building above Myles's, with a beach view from every balcony. He had been the star shooting guard on his team two years running, making millions annually with fans all over the world. When he graduated high school, everyone in our town knew he was going to be extraordinary. And he didn't disappoint.

But even with a powerful brother, I didn't get the luxury of his prestige back home, since I started high school the same year he graduated. No one cared about the younger sister.

"I'm leaving for training. I won't be back until four. Find something to eat." He set a hundred-dollar bill next to the coffee cup, then grinned. "Are you even allowed to take coffee?"

"I've been drinking coffee since I was fourteen. Get out now or I'll blow my morning breath in your face," I threatened, and he playfully sprinted away.

When he reached the door, he hesitated, his finger tapping the frame before he added sternly, "Don't get in trouble."

I closed the tiny hole I'd made in the comforter, rolling my eyes at his concern. It's not like I'm a stubborn individual.

The curtains were thick and the blinds behind them decent, so no sun rays hindered my rest. I cocooned myself under the blanket in the cool, temperature-controlled room and fell asleep, until I felt my right jaw twist to one side.

Shit.

I jolted up in a panic, blinking my heavy-lidded eyes to find myself swaddled in blankets with my ass on the floor.

Another thing I forgot to mention: I always fall off the bed in my sleep. I might as well be kicking, but I've never recorded myself to confirm that. Thank God I've never had to share a bed with anyone, though. And with the way things are going with my imaginary boyfriend, who's probably tasting wedding cakes with another woman right now, I doubt I ever will.

Around eleven, after I showered, I made myself some Fruity Pebbles and sat at the island, chewing one flavor at a time and scrolling through Scarlett Maverick's Instagram.

She had over five thousand followers but followed only nine back, all from her clique. Scarlett Maverick was my classmate, the kind of girl with a hyper-awareness of her own importance. You can guess: fake blonde hair, a jerk boyfriend from the school basketball team, drove a Mercedes. A standard spoiled brat.

The school had always given her special treatment the rest of us never got, thanks to her family's generous donations every semester.

Right then, scrolling through her tags, hell, jealousy tasted bitter in my throat. Her life was colorful. Bikinis, pool parties, shopping malls, hats, and heels, while I was in California, one of the coolest places in the nation, still miserable with a broken heart, consuming sugar in my baggy T-shirt.

I hate my life.

"What's so bad about it?" asked a heavenly voice.

I jumped off the chair and twirled.

Yes, Myles was standing before me in the flesh, and what I couldn't believe was how much flesh there was.

Holy perfection at its finest.

The man was shirtless, in black pants set at the lowest part of his hips. I could see a carved-out V-line and chiseled abs. And his pectorals... Damn.

"I should go get something to put on from Brayden's closet," he said awkwardly, and then it registered that I was gawking.

But could you blame me? He was an angel in human form.

"Did you sleep here?" I asked, mortified, but composed myself when he headed toward Brayden's bedroom and I trailed after him.

How could it flex so flawlessly?

"At my place," he answered simply, his God-like back to me.

"Then why didn't you wear yours there?" I asked when we entered the tidy room.

"I don't remember why I don't have any in my closet." He glanced back at me and shrugged, then dug freely into Brayden's clothes as if they were his own.

That was crazy.

"You're kidding, right?" I chortled, and he stopped and looked at me with a serious expression.

Wow.

I dropped onto the bed that was somehow made. As though no one had slept in it. How was that even possible? Brayden said there were no housekeepers, that we had to do the dishes after we used the kitchen. So why were the pieces of furniture always clean except in my temporary bedroom?

"Can I ask you something?" I asked while he pulled out a blue sleeveless shirt.

He nodded but held out his palm. "After you tell me if this shirt fits."

I'd be more than happy to help, because I had already sketched how every muscle on his arms and his protruding pectorals would settle in the red wine long-sleeve turtleneck.

"Try the red one," I suggested, and his eyes narrowed.

"I'm going for training, not a date."

"That'll hold you. Don't you think it's exposed for a date?" I retorted, and he peered back at the shirt on the hanger skeptically, hands on his hips.

The view was to die for. I must have been blushing.

When he looked back at me, I immediately cleared my throat and straightened my back. Luckily, I hadn't drooled, but I was sure my face was rosy.

"Okay," he agreed, and brought the material to his head, his hands gliding faultlessly into the sleeves, his abs contracting, his tan skin stretching. I thought now I might be drooling.

"You sure?" he smiled shyly, scanning himself.

I've never been this certain in my life.

"What?" His eyes widened.

I didn't just say that out loud, did I?

"What, what?"

At my fright, he smiled charmingly and pulled on a pair of Nikes. Brayden's Nikes.

"You wear the same size as my brother?" I asked.

"Let's hope so, or I'm buying a pair today."

I smiled to myself at his joke, knowing he was the highest-paid player in California.

A few seconds later, he straightened and lifted one leg, standing on the other. "Smoothly." He winked, and butterflies erupted in the pit of my stomach.

My eyes twitched as I drifted into a trance where he knelt on one knee and asked me to marry him, with the bonus of a thousand reasons why Autumn wasn't his penguin.

"What did you want to ask me earlier?"

The voice was too close. I heard it in my heart.

Looking up, I found him towering over me. He might have worn my brother's shirt, but his scent was so distinct that it traveled into my territory. That scent alone brought me euphoria. We were introduced the first time I met Myles outside the airport. I stiffened as he warmed me in his body and lifted me off the ground, only to murder my long-time dreams with the most vicious words he could say. He called me, quote, "baby sister."

"Umm?" I gasped.

He didn't let me swallow or comprehend the situation. He wrapped a hand around my waist and snatched me out of bed.

An electric spark was what I felt at the contact of his skin. His fingers were warm. I was hyperaware of them against the skin of my stomach. The shirt must have bunched somewhere over his hand, because he was touching my stomach directly.

Whatever I thought I'd felt earlier, those butterflies were nothing compared to this.

My breathing hitched. My lips parted to support my respiratory system.

"You wanted to ask me something. What was it?" he muttered, still holding me, parts of our bodies pressed together. I wondered if he was cognizant of our position, and if he could feel the spark, too.

My head shook, and as my stability weakened, I leaned into his hold and stared feverishly at the brazen-faced man clutching my waist with a single arm. I couldn't think of anything but his lips on mine.

How would he taste?

"I can't remember," I said honestly.

He watched me for a moment, until his expression hardened.

"I'm sorry about last night."

What? No. I was the one who should apologize. I'd been the irresponsible one.

"I was rude to Autumn."

"She was being rude, too," he said, and my heart stopped.

He was siding with me. Oh. My. Goal.

While I mentally celebrated one forward step and forgot to say anything, Myles freed me, and an ache from the sudden emptiness tinged my heart.

I looked down between us, not knowing what to say.

"I'm already late, so I'd better get going," he announced. I nodded, just as an idea popped into my head while he started to leave the room.

"Can I come along?" I pleaded, palms pressed together in front of me, my usual sly-eyed flutter. It normally got me what I wanted.

"Brayden wouldn't like that..."

"But I'll be bored here alone. I don't know anyone."

Myles was tall, like a whole actual tall. Basketball-exemplar kind of tall. My head barely reached his chest. I had to look up to speak to him. I found it comforting.

He heaved a sigh and inhaled, appearing to think it over.

As a hint of a smile pulled at his lips, I grew excited, knowing he was considering.

"Promise me you'll be quiet, since you're my responsibility now that I'm taking you along."

Excited, I promised.

"Okay. And arrange Bray's bed as it was before you crumpled the bedding," he instructed. I rolled my eyes but did it anyway, while he watched from the doorway.

He watched me.

Progress. I was making progress.