Not my brother's best friend

MIA

Being stranded in the middle of nowhere during a rainstorm wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. I could be fleeing a rabid bear or tied to a chair, forced to endure Barbie Girl on repeat. But just because things could be worse didn’t mean they didn’t suck.

Think positive.

I stared at my phone. "An Uber will show up... now." The app had been "finding my ride" for thirty minutes. Normally, I'd be less stressed—I had a working phone and a bus shelter—but Josh’s farewell party started in an hour, I still needed to pick up his cake, and it would be dark soon.

I wasn't stupid. No girl with zero self-defense skills wanted to be stranded alone after dark.

I should've taken those classes with Jules.

The bus didn’t run on weekends, most of my friends didn’t have cars, and Bridget was at an embassy event. No Uber, no passing cars. Not that I’d hitchhike—I’d seen horror movies.

That left one option. One I really didn’t want to take.

Sighing, I pulled up the contact, said a silent prayer, and hit call.

One ring. Two. Three.

Come on, pick up. Then again, maybe not. I wasn’t sure which was worse—being murdered or dealing with my brother’s reaction.

“What’s wrong?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Hello to you too, brother dearest. Why assume something’s wrong?”

Josh snorted. “You called me. You only do that when you’re in trouble.”

We usually texted and lived next door—not my idea—so we rarely needed to message at all.

“I wouldn’t say I’m in trouble,” I hedged. “Just… stranded. No public transport, no Uber.”

“Christ, Mia. Where are you?”

I told him.

“What the hell? That’s an hour from campus!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I had an engagement shoot. It’s a thirty-minute drive. Forty-five with traffic.”

Thunder boomed, rattling the trees. I winced, pressing deeper into the shelter, but the slanted rain still pelted me.

A rustling sound came from Josh’s end, followed by a moan.

I froze. No way. But then—another moan.

My stomach churned. “Are you having sex right now?” I whisper-shouted.

“Technically, no,” he said, unapologetic.

“Technically” was doing a lot of work there.

I didn’t need details—I really didn’t need details. The thought alone made me gag.

“Josh Carter.”

“Hey, you called me.” His voice muffled, followed by a feminine laugh and a squeal. I wanted to bleach my brain.

“One of the guys took my car to get ice,” he said, voice clear again. “But don’t worry, I got you. Drop a pin and keep your phone close. You still have the pepper spray I got you for your birthday?”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” I said dryly. I’d wanted a new camera bag. Instead, he got me an eight-pack of pepper spray. Seven were still collecting dust in my closet.

“Good. Stay put. He’ll be there soon. And we’ll discuss your complete lack of self-preservation later.”

“I am self-preserved,” I protested. Was that even the right word? “It’s not my fault there are no Ub—wait. He? Josh!”

Too late. He’d already hung up.

Figures—the one time I wanted details, he ditched me for a hookup. I was surprised he hadn’t freaked out more. Josh put the over in overprotective.

Ever since The Incident, he’d acted like my brother and bodyguard in one. I didn’t blame him—our childhood had been a mess, or so I’d been told—and I loved him, but his constant worrying was exhausting.

I hugged my bag, leaning into the cracked leather for warmth while I waited for the mysterious “he” to arrive. It could be anyone—Josh had no shortage of friends.

He was Mr. Popular—basketball star, student body president, homecoming king, Sigma frat brother, Big Man on Campus.

I was his opposite. Not unpopular, just someone who preferred a small circle of close friends over a crowd. Where he thrived in the spotlight, I stayed in the corner, daydreaming about places I’d probably never visit—thanks to my phobia.

I knew it was mental, but it felt physical. The nausea, the racing heart, the paralyzing fear...

At least I wasn’t afraid of rain. Oceans, lakes, pools—I avoided. But rain? That would’ve been a nightmare.

I had no idea how long I sat there, huddled in the tiny bus shelter, cursing myself for turning down the Graysons’ ride back after the shoot.

I hadn’t wanted to inconvenience them, assuming I could Uber back to Thayer’s campus in thirty minutes. But the skies opened up right after they left, and now I was stranded.

Darkness crept in, cool blues blending with grays. Part of me worried Josh wouldn't show, but my brother never failed me. If one of his friends bailed, they wouldn’t have working legs tomorrow. Josh was a med student with no hesitation about using violence—especially for me.

Headlights sliced through the rain. My heart pounded, torn between relief and wariness. Safe area or not, you never knew.

When my eyes adjusted, I exhaled. The sleek black Aston Martin was familiar—Josh’s friend. I wouldn’t end up a missing person.

But the driver?

Bad news.

He wasn’t the helpful type. He was the cross me and I’ll ruin you type—the kind to destroy your world with a calm stare while standing over the ashes in Tom Ford shoes.

The window rolled down.

“Get in.”

He never raised his voice, yet it cut through the rain like a blade. Damien Cole was a force even the weather bowed to.

I didn’t move.

“I’m not opening the door for you,” he added, just as thrilled as I was about this arrangement.

What a gentleman.

Swallowing a sarcastic remark, I pushed off the bench and ducked into the car. It smelled like spicy cologne and rich leather.

No towel, no barrier—just a silent prayer that I wouldn’t ruin the pristine interior.

"Thanks for picking me up," I said, trying to break the silence.

Nothing. Damien didn’t respond or glance my way, maneuvering the slick roads with his usual precision—controlled, steady, and edged with danger. He did everything like that.

It still baffled me that he and Josh were best friends. Unlike my brother, Damien was an asshole. Probably had some tragic backstory that turned him into the unfeeling machine he was today.

Josh never gave details, but I knew Damien’s childhood had been worse than ours. His parents died young, leaving him a fortune he only grew when he inherited it at eighteen. He’d already made millions in high school developing financial modeling software.

With a 160 IQ, he was Thayer’s only student to finish the five-year undergrad/MBA program in three. At twenty-six, he was COO of one of the top real estate firms in the country. A legend, and he knew it.

Meanwhile, I considered it a win if I remembered to eat between classes, my two jobs, and photography side gigs.

“Going to Josh’s party?” I tried again. The silence was suffocating.

“Yes.”

Great. So much for small talk.

My mind drifted to my to-do list—editing the Graysons’ shoot, working on my fellowship application, helping Josh pack…

Damn. Josh’s cake.

I’d ordered it two weeks ago from Crumble & Bake—his favorite, a three-layer dark chocolate cake with fudge frosting and pudding filling. He only indulged once a year, but since he was leaving for a year, I figured he could bend the rule.

I forced a smile. “Don’t kill me, but we need to make a detour.”

“No. We’re already late.” Damien’s tone was final as he stopped at a red light.

Through the rain-splattered window, I spotted a Starbucks and Panera—proof we were back in civilization.

I held my smile. “It’s just a small detour. Fifteen minutes, max. I need to grab Josh’s cake—his favorite, Death by Chocolate. He’s leaving for a year, and they don’t have Crumble & Bake in Central America, so—”

“Stop.” His fingers tightened on the wheel, and my ridiculous brain fixated on how perfect they were. Then again, everything about him was perfect.

Sharp jaw, sculpted cheekbones, jade-green eyes cold as ice. He looked like a museum statue come to life.

An insane urge to ruffle his perfectly tousled hair hit me. Just to prove he wasn’t actually flawless. But I wasn’t suicidal, so I stayed still.

“If I take you to Crumble & Bake, will you stop talking?”

I grinned. “If you want.”

His lips thinned. “Fine.”

Yes. Mia Carter: One. Damien Cole: Zero.

When we reached the bakery, I unbuckled my seatbelt and was halfway out when Damien grabbed my arm, yanking me back.

His touch burned—heat searing through my skin, straight to my stomach.

I swallowed. Stupid hormones. “What? We’re late, and they close soon.”

“You can’t go out like that.” A flicker of disapproval crossed his face.

“Like what?” I frowned. Jeans and a T-shirt weren’t exactly scandalous.

Damien tilted his head toward my chest. I glanced down—and gasped.

White shirt. Soaked. Completely see-through.

Red lace bra. Hard nipples—thanks, air conditioning.

My face turned the same color as my bra. I hugged my arms across my chest. “Was it like this the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“You could’ve told me!”

“I just did.”

I clenched my fists. The urge to strangle him was real.

I wasn’t even a violent person. I once refused to eat gingerbread cookies because of Shrek—but Damien? He brought out my dark side.

I exhaled sharply, dropping my arms on instinct—only to remember my soaked, see-through shirt when Damien’s gaze flicked downward again.

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I was done arguing. Crumble & Bake closed in ten minutes, and time was running out.

Frustration boiled over. “Instead of being an asshole and staring at my breasts, can you just lend me your jacket? I’d like to get this cake and send your best friend off properly before he leaves the country.”

The second the words left my mouth, horror set in. Had I just said breasts to Damien Cole? And accused him of ogling me?

Dear God, if you want to smite me, now’s the time.

Damien’s eyes narrowed—a rare reaction, which was saying something.

“Trust me, I wasn’t staring,” he said icily. “You’re not my type. Even if you weren’t Josh’s sister.”

Ouch. I wasn’t interested in Damien either, but no girl liked being dismissed so bluntly.

“Whatever. No need to be a jerk.” I huffed. “C&B closes in two minutes. Just give me your jacket, and we’ll be out of here.”

I’d already prepaid, so I just needed to grab the cake.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’ll get it. You’re not stepping out of this car dressed like that, even with my jacket.”

Before I could argue, he grabbed an umbrella and got out in one fluid motion—moving with the lethal grace of a panther. He’d make a killing as a model, not that he’d ever do something so pedestrian.

Less than five minutes later, he was back, Crumble & Bake’s signature pink-and-mint-green box in hand. He dropped it in my lap, shut his umbrella, and pulled out of the lot without a word.

“Do you ever smile?” I asked, peeking inside the box. Perfect—one Death by Chocolate, just as ordered. “Might help with your condition.”

Damien didn’t look away from the road. “What condition?”

“Stickuptheassitis.”

I froze, jaw slack. “Did you just make a joke?”

Damien ignored me. “Why were you out there?” The abrupt shift gave me whiplash.

He had made a joke. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.

“I had a photoshoot. There’s a lake—”

“Spare me. I don’t care.”

I growled under my breath. “Why are you here? Didn’t peg you as the chauffeur type.”

“I was nearby. And if you died, Josh would be unbearable.”

He pulled up to my house, right next to Josh’s, where lights blazed and music thumped from the party inside.

“Josh has terrible taste in friends,” I snapped. “I hope that stick up your ass punctures something vital.” Then, remembering my manners, I muttered, “Thanks for the ride.”

I slammed the door and hurried inside, the rain now a light drizzle. Hydrangeas by the porch filled the air with their scent, but my mood remained sour.

I’d shower, change, and catch the last half of Josh’s party—assuming he didn’t give me grief for being late. Right now, though, all I wanted was to punch Damien Cole in his arrogant, infuriating face.

At least I rarely saw him. He and Josh mostly hung out in the city, and Damien rarely visited Thayer, despite being an alumnus.

Thank God. Any more of him, and I’d lose my mind.