Page 2 of Piggy

Charlotte

Morning.

Time to start my daily ritual of cleaning up after people who don’t even say thank you.

I crack open my door and yawn, already clutching a trash bag. I keep them by the door now. I’ve got a system. I’m efficient.

As I step out, I lazily move around the drunks sprawled in the living room from last night’s party. I scoop up beer cans, snack wrappers, grab a few throw pillows off the floor, and carry whatever cups or dishes I can manage.

By the time I reach the kitchen, it’s the usual disaster zone.

Dishes piled high. Red solo cups and straws everywhere. Mixers sticky on the counter. Just pure chaos.

I drop everything off and finally head to the bathroom.

Just then, I catch Grayson — freaking shirtless — leaving the bathroom, towel slung low after a shower. I don’t know why, but my eyes snap to his hips. It feels wrong, so I gaze higher to his chest. But the guy is just too damn hot.

Don’t stare...

I hang my head.

He side-steps past me in the narrow hallway. Whatever cologne he put on makes me melt. Refreshing and spicy all at once.

“Mornin’, Piggy,” he says.

“It’s Charlotte,” I mumble.

“Right.” He stops mid-stride and turns around. “Like the pig in that book.”

“ No . That book is Charlotte’s Web . She’s the spider,” I reply.

Dang, this guy is as stupid as Brax. No wonder they get along.

He doesn’t get defensive and attack like my brother would. He stares into my eyes, the hazel color flickering in challenge. “Yeah, that’s right. Babe was the pig. Bet you wish you had that nickname instead, huh?”

I flutter my eyes. “Uh.”

His big hand clutches my shoulder.

Butterflies shoot through me. He’s touching me. They never touch me.

However, he squeezes, digging his thumb under my collarbone and hitting a nerve. I slink back and rub my shoulder.

“Ow!” I say in astonishment. “That freaking hurt!”

He chuckles, then bites his plump bottom lip, trying to restrain his smile. “They were right. You squeal like a pig.”

“Eh!”

Dang it! Why do I always—

Wait!

“You were talking about me?”

“Last night. About you and Atticus. I asked Brax which one of you is the dumb one.”

Oh, I hate this guy!

“Atticus has autism. He’s very smart.” I reach up, putting my finger in his face. “And if you bully him—”

“Easy, swine.” His smile sharpens. “Bite again and I’ll put a muzzle on you.”

I lower my hand and calm myself. “I’m just protective of him. Even though he’s almost eighteen, he needs help. Nobody helped me, but I can help him.”

His jaw tightens as he contemplates, those paralyzing eyes sweeping over me, his expression curious.

I take a step back, his gaze practically burning my skin.

“Have a good day, Piggy ,” he finally says, then disappears into his room.

He hasn’t even been here long, and I already feel like I’m bracing for the next moment he’ll make me feel small.

Tool.

The rest of the day starts normal. I walk Atticus to the school bus, then go to work at Nautical Treasures , a tourist trap on the boardwalk, and pretend my life is quirky and coastal... and not soul sucking.

On the way home, I grab a brownie. It is my birthday, after all.

By the time I’m home, the place is quiet.

Victory .

Grayson’s bedroom door is open. I hesitate but peek inside.

Bed made. Room dark.

No sign of him.

Relief. Also disappointing. Not that I care... Okay, maybe I do.

I jog upstairs and find Atticus in his room. Good. He got home from school okay.

“You alright, bud?” I ask as he watches Harry Potter for the 1000th time. He sure looks like Brax if he wasn’t so skinny... and different.

He nods and I hand him his dinner. It’s just a chicken alfredo TV dinner I heated up, but I’m tired.

He thanks me and I ruffle his frizzy, blond hair.

“Don’t!” he whines, but smiles before I close the door.

It’s Monday — Brax’s friends probably won’t be here tonight.

I turn on my music, do the dishes, take out the trash, and slip into my favorite pajamas. Soft cotton. Slightly ripped. Comfy.

Time to celebrate!

I flop down in front of the TV, cue up The Notebook , and get a little fluttery just from the opening soundtrack. I sink into the couch with my brownie. Alone. Undisturbed. Peaceful.

And for a second, it almost feels okay.

Then the front door opens — and my stomach drops.

I freeze.

Please don’t be Brax. Please don’t be all of them.

I just want one night — my night — to be quiet. To not have to hide in my room while they treat the place like a frat house. To not feel like the outsider in my own damn place.

On my birthday.

And still, I brace for impact.

“Hey, Piggy,” says Grayson.

“Hi.” I keep it casual, eyes flicking over his ridiculously perfect self before I look back at the screen. Smooth. Cool. Totally unaffected.

My stomach flips anyway. I hate that. I wish I didn’t like my brother’s friends so much.

He disappears into the kitchen. I relax.

Until— crack.

A beer can opens.

Ugh.

I tense. Party-mode activated.

He swaggers back into the room and sits beside me. His heavy, muscled frame makes the old couch shift under me. I always like that — a guy being that close. On the same couch.

He gestures toward the TV. “What is this shit?”

This shit?

I blink at the screen, offended on Allie and Noah’s behalf. “ The Notebook . Only the best romance movie ever made.”

“Gay.”

I scoff. “No, it’s not.”

He chuckles, smug. “Looks gay. Put on the basketball game.”

Normally I would. Because usually I don’t get a say. But not tonight.

“It’s my birthday. I want to watch this. On the big TV. Okay?”

He tilts his head, like he’s sizing me up. “Happy birthday. How old?”

“Twenty-one,” I say proudly, another year further from the hell that was high-school.

His eyes dart to the soda on the coffee table. “And you’re not even drinking?” He shakes his head as he says to himself, “God, what a fucking loser.”

I frown.

“I don’t drink,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to end up like Brax. An alcoholic.”

He leans back against the couch, visibly relaxing. No argument. No teasing. Just quiet.

Okay then.

I side glance at him subtly, observing .

He’s effortlessly hot. Doesn’t even know how lucky he is. Those biceps bulging out of his white tee. His long legs rested apart. His freaking presence.

It’s pretty dark in here, thankfully, so he can’t see how much I’m stealing glances.

We watch together… kind of. He doesn’t protest. Occasionally chuckles. I pretend not to notice how close he is . It’s weird having a guy here without Brax. It’s nice, though.

Then it happens. One of my favorite scenes.

Noah and Allie. Their first time. The way they undress in front of each other, taking turns. The soft light. The nervousness. Excitement. The love.

My heart squeezes. I clutch my chest like a total sap.

A low chuckle snaps me out of the magic.

“What?”

He points at the screen. “That’s not how it goes. Nobody’s first time is like that. Was yours?”

I blink. My face burns. It’s not like I hide the fact I’m inexperienced, but still... he should assume by just looking at me.

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I mumble. “Obviously, I’m a virgin.”

His eyebrows lift. “You are? Shit. Twenty-one, don’t drink, and never been fucked. That’s sad.”

“Uh, not sad!” I snap.

He smirks. “No wonder you like this kind of crap. You think your first time’s gonna be like that. ”

“It will too!” I insist, hugging my knees. “I’ve got it all planned out. The song. The outfit. The lighting. It’s going to be... perfect. Like Noah and Allie.”

He sighs, movie flickering shadows across his chiseled face. That smile is pure mockery, yet I still want to kiss those full lips. Kill me.

He takes a slow sip of his beer, lips parting just enough to tilt the can back, throat moving as he swallows, relaxed. Effortless. Like every move he makes isn’t completely unfair.

Then he glances over, making me feel small in that way he does.

“Trust me, Piggy,” he says, like it’s not even up for debate. “Perfect lighting won’t save you from how much it’ll suck.” He smirks. “But a guy like me inside you? You’d love it.”

My heart drops.

He doesn’t look away.

Doesn’t smirk.

Just lets the words hang there between us, while my brain scrambles to catch up.