Page 8 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

EASTON

FOUR YEARS AGO

“ S o, birthday boy,” I say, dropping on my back beside Adam and sucking the icing off my fingers. “What do you want to do today?”

“Sleep,” he grumbles into his pillow. “Go away.”

I huff a laugh. He’s so moody in the mornings.

He’s nice to look at though. His dark hair is a beautiful mess—I’m sure there’s frosting in it from our cake fight just now—and he’s shirtless, his smooth, lightly tanned back exposed where the blanket tangled around his knees.

I drop my gaze to his gray sweats, to the curve of his round ass beneath his low-riding waistband.

I can’t see the band of his boxers, meaning he’s probably free balling.

As I stare at his body, I say, “There’s a party tonight?—”

“No,” he interrupts. “No parties.”

“It’s not a party for you .” I roll my eyes, knowing he’d probably murder me if I threw him one. My stepbrother’s not a very social being. “It’s just a regular party.”

“Ugh.”

Turning on my side to face him, I lean on my elbow and put my mouth near his ear. “If you hate parties so much, why do you go to them?”

He stiffens for a beat, then relaxes into the mattress, his arms curled beneath the pillow. “To make sure your dumb ass doesn’t do any dumb shit.”

“My ass isn’t dumb.”

“Your ass had my ass running from three huge dudes last weekend because your ass thought it’d be fun to sleep with their little sister.”

“You talk a lot about my ass,” I state, and he turns, one eye screwed shut as he cracks a small grin. “And I already told you I didn’t know she had three crazy protective older brothers. If I did, I never would have touched her.”

“Still, I worry you’d get yourself killed without me there, and I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“How thoughtful of you,” I joke. “What do you want to do today?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs as if he hasn’t thought about it. “See a movie, maybe. They’re showing Die Hard at the drive-in tonigh?—”

Holding my phone up between us, I show him the tickets I bought last week.

The drive-in. Die Hard. Eight o’clock tonight. Just the two of us. The way he wants it to be.

He looks at me from beneath his lashes. “How did you know?”

“I know everything there is to know about you, little brother,” I tease, swiping another bit of frosting from his cheek and licking it off my thumb.

He flicks his gaze between my eyes, one brow cocked.

“Come on. Get your moody ass dressed.” I give his ass a little smack as I stand. “I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

He grumbles into his pillow again, but I can tell he’s smiling.