The afternoon sun glints off the dashboard of Kayla's car as we pull away from campus, her hands gripping the wheel with that familiar tension. I've spent the whole day thinking about this moment, being alone with her again.
"So, how was your day?" she asks, glancing at me before returning her eyes to the road.
"Good," I reply, pulling out my phone. The screen lights up with a few notifications, but I ignore those and open a new text to Autumn.
Me: You good to take me out tonight? Want to make sis jealous.
I watch the three dots appear, disappear, then reappear as Autumn composes her response. The reply comes through seconds later.
Autumn: I can't drive I'm drunk already, lol
I raise an eyebrow. It's barely 4 PM. Either she's lying to avoid me after our cafeteria encounter, or she's got serious problems. Either way, I can work with this.
Another text pops up before I can respond.
Autumn: Having a small party at my place if u want to come over. Just a few friends. Nothing fancy.
I type back quickly.
Me: Can I bring my sister?
The three dots appear and disappear several times like she's typing and deleting multiple responses. Finally:
Autumn: Just don't kill me, please.
I snort at that, which earns me a sideways glance from Kayla.
"Something funny?" she asks, her voice carrying that edge it gets when she thinks I'm keeping secrets.
"Just texting," I say casually, continuing to tap at my screen.
"With who?" The question comes out sharper than I think she intended. She clears her throat, softening her tone. "I mean, did you make some friends today?"
I don't answer immediately, watching her knuckles grip the steering wheel even tighter. The silence stretches between us until she takes one hand off the wheel to reach for my phone.
"Who are you texting, Travis?"
I move my phone just out of her reach. "Relax, sis. I'm just making plans for tonight."
Her eyebrows pull together in a frown. "Plans? What plans? We didn't discuss any plans."
"I met a girl today," I say, enjoying the way her entire body tenses at those five simple words. "She's nice. She invited us to go to a party tonight."
"Us?" Kayla's voice rises slightly. "She invited both of us to a party?"
"Well, I asked if I could bring you," I clarify, watching her reaction carefully. "She said yes."
Kayla's jaw works back and forth, her teeth grinding audibly. "And who exactly is this 'nice girl'?"
"Actually," I say with a shrug, deliberately avoiding her question, "I can't remember her name. I met so many people today, it's all a blur."
Kayla's eyes narrow to dangerous slits. She knows I'm lying. We both know it, but she can't prove it without grabbing my phone.
"So, can we go?" I ask, injecting excitement into my voice. "I've never been to a college party before. It could be fun."
She sighs heavily, the sound laced with annoyance. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she considers, clearly torn between keeping me away from potential threats and maintaining her watchful presence.
"Since you asked me to go too, it's fine," she finally concedes, her voice tight. "But I'm not drinking, and we're not staying late. And if I see anything, anything at all, that I don't like, we're leaving immediately."
I bite back a victorious smile. "Of course. Whatever you say."
"Can I drink?" I ask, glancing at her sideways as we turn onto our street. The question hovers between us, loaded with implications.
Kayla frowns, her eyes flicking to me then back to the road. "You really shouldn't. Mom might get mad."
We both burst into laughter at the absurdity of that statement. Our mother, the self-proclaimed "cool mom," would probably be more upset if we didn't experiment a little.
"Remember when she found that joint in your desk drawer and just asked if you would share it with her?" I say between chuckles.
"Or when she tried to explain hallucinogens to us using her 'personal experiences' at Burning Man?" Kayla adds, her laughter softening her features, making her look more carefree.
Our mother is a paradox, the former hippie who did more mushrooms than food in her twenties, now designing weapons systems for some shadowy defense contractor. She still keeps her old tie-dye shirts in a box in the attic, right next to her engineering awards.
Kayla's laughter fades as she pulls into our driveway, her expression growing serious again. "You can drink," she says finally, turning to face me fully. "But only if I pour them for you, alright? I need to know you're not getting drugged."
I nod, trying to hide my excitement. Not at the prospect of alcohol, I couldn't care less about that, but at the idea of Kayla monitoring my every sip, controlling what goes into my body.
'I hope she takes advantage of me. I'm gonna get so sloppy on her.'
"I'm going to shower and change," I say as we enter the house, already planning my outfit. Something that will drive her crazy, something that shows just enough skin to make her protective instincts flare while stoking that other hunger I've glimpsed in her eyes.
Kayla nods, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll text this mystery girl and get the address."
I freeze mid-step. "You don't have to do that. I already know where it is."
She turns, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Then tell me."
"Um..." I scramble for an excuse. "I have it on my phone. I'll send it to you."
Her lips curl into a knowing smirk. "Sure you will. I'll be waiting."
As I head upstairs, I quickly text Autumn for the address, adding: My sister is coming. She's protective. Play along with whatever I say.
The response comes almost immediately: Wtf dude. Fine. But you're weird as hell.
She follows with an address just off campus and instructions to come around 8 PM.
I rush through my shower, mind racing with possibilities for the night ahead.
After toweling off, I dig through my closet for the perfect outfit. My fingers brush against the black shirt I bought last week, the one with the deep V-neck that plunges almost to my sternum. I pull it on, admiring how it clings to my lean frame while revealing just enough chest to be provocative. Paired with my tightest jeans, I look rapeble. Very rapeable.
I check myself in the mirror one more time, adjusting the V to make sure it's as revealing as possible without being completely obscene. This will drive Kayla crazy.
"Travis! Are you ready yet?" Her voice carries up the stairs, impatient.
"Coming!" I call back, giving myself one last once-over before heading downstairs.
I'm halfway down when Kayla emerges from her bedroom, and the sight of her stops me dead in my tracks. She's wearing a light red bolero jacket that frames her athletic shoulders perfectly, but it's what's underneath that makes my heart stutter, a white sports bra with "#1 Sister" emblazoned across it. The same one I got her for Christmas as a joke gift, never expecting her to actually wear it.
The combination leaves her midriff completely exposed, showing off her toned abs, while the sports bra pushes her breasts together in a way that makes my mouth go dry. Her cleavage is immaculate, perfectly framed by the open edges of the bolero.
I feel lightheaded, all the blood in my body seemingly unable to decide whether to rush to my face or straight to my dick. I grip the banister to steady myself.
She catches me staring and gives me a smug smirk, clearly enjoying my reaction. Then her eyes travel down to my exposed chest, and her expression shifts from satisfaction to outrage.
"You can't wear that," she says flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.
I recover enough to gesture at her outfit with an incredulous laugh. "Says the girl who just weaponized sexiness against her own brother."
Kayla's eyes narrow dangerously. "This isn't dirty at all," she says defensively, gesturing to her exposed midriff and sports bra. "My tits are just too big to go without proper support. You know that."
I can't help but notice she doesn't seem self-conscious about using the word "tits" around me. In this world, women's chests are practical, functional, not the forbidden fruit they were in my old reality. But the way her sports bra hugs her curves still makes my mouth water. Even if society doesn't sexualize them, I sure do.
"You, on the other hand," she continues, pointing accusingly at my exposed chest, "are practically advertising yourself. Go change right now."
I keep staring, transfixed by the contrast between her toned stomach and the white fabric with "#1 Sister" stretched across her chest. My brain short-circuits as I imagine pressing my tongue against her exposed abs, working my way up...
"Travis!" She snaps her fingers in front of my face. "Are you even listening? That shirt is completely inappropriate for a college party."
I can't even argue. I'm too aroused, my jeans becoming uncomfortably tight. The thought of her worrying about other women seeing my chest, the possessiveness in her voice, it's exactly what I wanted.
"Okay, hold on," I manage to say, turning to head back upstairs before she notices the growing bulge in my pants.
In my room, I rifle through my closet, settling on a shirt with a slightly less deep V. It still shows off my collarbones and a hint of chest, but it's just modest enough that Kayla might let it slide. I adjust myself in my jeans, willing my erection to subside, but the memory of Kayla's exposed midriff keeps it stubbornly present.
When I return downstairs, Kayla gives me a critical once-over, her eyes lingering a moment too long on the still-visible portion of my chest.
"Better," she concedes reluctantly. "But button it up more."
I comply, fingers working the button while maintaining eye contact with her. "Happy now?"
She sighs, reaching out to adjust my collar with gentle fingers. Her touch is like a brand on my soul.
"It'll do," she says, her voice softer now. "I just don't want other women getting the wrong idea about you."
"And what idea would that be?" I ask innocently, leaning into her touch.
Her fingers pause on my collar, and for a heartbeat, I swear they tighten slightly like she's fighting the urge to pull me closer.
"That you're available," she mutters so quietly I almost miss it.
Before I can respond, she steps back abruptly, clearing her throat. "I forwarded the address to Mom, by the way. So she knows where we're going."
"And what did Mom say about our plans?" I ask, curious despite myself. Our mother's typical response to our whereabouts ranges from distracted mumbling to overly detailed stories about her own "wild days."
Kayla sighs, running a hand through her short hair. "She said if I get too drunk, just Uber home. Don't try to drive or anything stupid like that."
I nod, feeling that familiar pang whenever our parents' different approaches to childcare come up. Our dad apparently walked out when we were kids, which reminds me of how my mom left in my original world. The parallels between this reality and my old one sometimes hit me at the strangest moments, making me wonder if some patterns are just universal constants.
"Like we'd even consider driving drunk," I mutter, grabbing my jacket from the hook by the door. "She knows you're too responsible for that."
"I think she was more worried about you accepting rides from strange women," Kayla says, fishing her keys from her pocket. Her eyes flick to my face, studying my reaction. "She doesn't trust your judgment."
"Why not?" I ask?
She glances at me, her green eyes flashing with something dangerous. "Because you're a flirt, Travis. You don't understand the signals you're sending."
I laugh. "I'm really not. I just know what I want."
"Yeah, Yeah."