"Have you heard from your brother?" I ask, shifting on the couch—my book closed with a dark romance ticket stub bookmark holding my place.

It isn't like I can't text Everett. We've had each other's number for years. But he's Eris's brother. There's no real reason for me to message him unless it's about her. At least that's how it always felt. Besides, he's a busy guy—helping his dad by managing the real estate company and managing Aether Tower, the property building we live in.

"Not since lunch," Eris stumbles into the living room, tripping over her own bare feet. The golden pack of Goya cookies in her hand slips through her fingers, but she catches it. Her head snaps up, looking in my direction. "Shit, that was close. Why you ask?"

I shrug, thumb running over the pages. Each sheet is gentle and delicate as they brush against my skin. "He walked me back to campus and..."

I nibble on my bottom lip. Unsure of how she'll react. She doesn't trust Eros—then again, she rarely trusts anyone at all. Everyone has a hidden agenda in her eyes. And to be fair, I can't blame her. After everything she's been through—with people only wanting her for the money—it makes sense. But not everyone has a hidden agenda and I'm still trying to teach her that.

"He might have offered to message that creator I told you about."

"We're talking about Ev? Rolls his eyes every time you mention the creator Ev? My brother, who hardly ever goes on social media, offered?"

Honestly, I was surprised too. Excited—too excited that I hugged him so tight I could feel his muscles go rigid against my body for a split second.

Everett and I don't hug. We don't have nicknames for each other. We keep our distance. There's a line for reasons.

One, he's Eris's brother.

Two, he's older than me.

Three, even though he has those gorgeous gray eyes that pierce through to my soul, broad shoulders, and a don't fuck with me, but I'm a simp attitude—aka the perfect start to a book boyfriend—he makes it very clear, I'm just his sister's best friend.

And I'm okay with that.

"Didn't think anyone could wrap him around their finger." She plopped down beside me on the couch, opening the cookie wrapper.

"It's not like that. I think he just wants me to stop talking about the guy."

"For someone not into motorcycles, you do talk about him a lot."

"I'm into motorcycles."

"Wanting to be fucked on one doesn't count."

I roll my eyes, turning my entire body—feet crossed on the couch—to face her. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to be fucked on a motorcycle."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to be fucked in general. Look I just want you to be careful. Yeah, he's a hot guy, but what else is here? Aside from his voice? He's literally a fantasy."

For a perfectly valid reason:

Most men suck.

And I say most because not all guys do. Eris's boyfriend—a prime example. He runs her baths when she's in a mood. Races with her on their motorcycles. Hell, he even looks at her like she's literally the world—like there's no one else for him.

The only place I get that is in books, behind a screen where I let my imagination take control.

So yes it's a fantasy. But I'm perfectly okay with it even if I make it seem like it's reality and not fiction.

"So what does he do, aside from making videos on social media?" Eris asks, plucking a cookie out and taking a bite.

I know what she's trying to do—not seem so judgemental. Anyone else would think she was, but I know she is just trying to look out for me. "He's a content creator."

There's nothing more to it. He usually posts and shares the same content on all his social media platforms. Text over a video of him in an all-black t-shirt—showcasing his well-defined arms and muscles—pants, leather gloves, and a helmet. Sometimes he's in his room shirtless, but for the most part, he's outside, riding, or in a garage—his bike a paid actor.

Occasionally, he'll make a thirst trap, responding to a cheeky comment. A phone grab from below here, dirty audio sound there, and sometimes he'll be blatantly sexual with the text, but nothing meant to be taken seriously.

He saves the more explicit stuff for AfterDark. But I won't tell her about his other occupation. Not that I'm ashamed he's a camboy. He's hot and wants to make money. There's no shame in that. It's just something I'd rather keep for myself—and all the other fans who get off to him.

"So he's passionate about it," she says. "Does this mean you'll let me teach you how to ride again?"

"Absolutely not."

The last time she tried, I crashed her motorcycle into a light pole two feet away from me—and I fell. If it wasn't for Everett, I would have been crushed by the bike too.

"Then let him do it." She smirks, gaze dipping to the phone on my lap. "Tell him you'd love for him to teach you how to ride."

"I'm not telling him that." Besides it sounds so suggestive.

"It's not like it's the worst he's probably heard."

True, but still.

"For all you know he won't even respond," she says.

Isn't that worse though? Me reaching out and him, not even bothering to respond back—no comment or like... Tightness grows in my chest—body suddenly cold.

"Or with luck, he will," Eris adds. "Point is, you won't know unless you make yourself known."

She's right.

But that doesn't help the nerves crawling over my skin. Say he does respond, in his head he might just think I'm another one of those girls on his page lusting after him—and yeah, I kind of am... but not openly on the internet. Just to Eris—plus Keegan and Everett by association.

A sigh leaves my lips, the book still in hand—story long forgotten.

"What would she do?" Eris points to the book in my hand. "Would she keep stalking his profile?" There's that word again. "Or would she comment on his videos?"

Honestly? The female M.C. wouldn't do either. She wouldn't be so interested in a guy behind the screen. She'd be too preoccupied with the love interest who unalives everyone who looks at her. And he'd probably fuck her so hard, reminding her who she belonged to—all so she'd forget about another man's profile. So, no, she wouldn't do either.

"Ev talking to the guy means nothing if you're too scared to say anything at all," Eris says.

"I'm not scared."

"Babe, we both know the only reason why you're so infatuated is because there's no risk of rejection or heartbreak when it's all one-sided. It's safe. You live in this perfect little fantasy where nothing can go wrong because nothing ever happens."

I open my mouth, ready to deny, but the words shrivel on my tongue. Is she right?

"And if you never put yourself out there, you'll never have anything real. Don't you want that?"

I swallow hard, knowing I do. I want late-night conversations, lazy mornings. Someone who sees past the bookworm to the girl longing for something more than half-assed promises. But wanting it and going for it are two different things. One comes with heartache, the other is just... easy.

"The worst that can happen is you get rejected. But at least that means you tried."

Tried and failed. And that's always how it seems to go for me. Almosts and maybes, nothing that ever seems to last. A crush dissolving when he chooses someone else. A date fizzling before dessert. Promises whispered in the dead of night, vanishing by morning. Potential love always slipping through my fingers before I can even grasp it.

And now here I am—giving my attention to someone I don't even know because at least he won't disappoint me.

Eris's arms wrap around me like a warm blanket, comforting. "I love you, and I hate seeing you like this, wasting away over a fantasy when you deserve the real thing."

Her words sting more than they should. I cling to her warmth, but it doesn't stop the ache in my chest.

Before I can say anything, her phone rings on the coffee table. She glances at the screen, a faint smile tugs at her lips.

"It's Key," she says, a warmth in her tone that only he seems to bring out.

"Go ahead," I murmur, trying not to feel jealous of that—the love she has. She deserves it... as do I.

She gives my arm a gentle touch before she stands. "I won't be long so don't start the show without me."

Eris steps out of the room, her voice soft as she answers the call.

Silence falls around me, heavy and thick. I sink onto the couch, Eris's words replaying in my head.

Wasting away over a fantasy.

My phone vibrates in my lap, pulling me from my thoughts. I pick it up, and before I know it, I'm scrolling to RidewithEros's profile. His latest video thumbnail flashes on the screen—his helmet covering his face, a black tank top stretched across his broad shoulders, and a sexy audio in the background.

The comments section is already buzzing with heart emojis and flirty words. My thumb hovers over the box as it stares back at me, daring me to say something.

Anything.

One tap. One comment. One step closer to something... or nothing at all.

I hesitate, the weight of almosts and maybes pressing down on me.

But I swallow them down, take deep breaths, and close my eyes.

I owe it to myself to at least try.

· · · ·

a/n

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