Off limits

There’s something cruel about growing up in the same house as the boy you crave.Every morning, I wake up to the sound of Josh yelling down the hall, followed by Nate’s laugh—like honey poured over gravel. Smooth. Dangerous.I lie in bed with my heart thudding, imagining their footsteps passing by my door. Nate always walks barefoot, his broad shoulders blocking the hallway light like a shadow I can never touch. Sometimes, when I press my ear to the door, I swear I can hear him breathing.

Pathetic, I know.But how could I not be obsessed? He was beautiful in a way no one should be allowed to be.

Six-foot-something of dark-haired, tan-skinned temptation. Muscles thick from football, jaw sharp enough to cut, and a crooked smile that could ruin lives—and probably has. He had this one tattoo on his hip, starting from his V-line, barely visible above his shorts. I’d only caught a glimpse once, when his shirt lifted at practice. Black ink. Wings. Maybe a phrase.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Nate.Josh’s best friend. Practically my brother.We grew up in the same house.

Untouchable.

He’s twenty now. Two years older than me. Captain of the football team. Walking wet dream of the entire senior class. Currently sleeping with at least three girls I’ve seen clinging to him like groupies. Girls with glossy hair and perfect lips.

Girls who didn’t grow up hearing his voice on the other side of the bathroom wall.Girls who weren’t invisible to him.Girls who actually had a shot.

Unlike me.

“Hey, slut,” Sam said sweetly, flopping onto my bed and tossing her curls over her shoulder. I hadn’t even heard her come in.

“Hey, whore,” I replied with a grin.

Sam smirked. She looked like sin wrapped in honey—curves and chaos in a plaid skirt and crop top that showed off her belly ring. A chubby cutie with zero shame.

“You’re wearing that?”

Of course I was.

I looked down at my oversized sweatshirt and knee socks. “It’s comfortable.”

“It’s nun-core.”

“You’re nun-core.”

She snorted and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.“You know, if I had your body, I’d be flashing it like a flashlight. That tiny waist? That ass? Those legs? Babe. What a waste. You should wear less.”

I rolled my eyes. “Boys don’t even look at me.”

“They look,” she said, raising a brow.“They just don’t touch. You’re like a marked shrine or something. ‘Do Not Enter. Nate Will Kill You.’”

My stomach fluttered at the sound of his name.

I didn’t answer. Just chewed my lip and pretended not to care.Because it was confusing.

Sam always said Nate was the reason I was an unkissed virgin.

But he wasn’t. Not really.Because Nate never looked at me twice.

Maybe it was my brother, Josh—out there scaring guys away from me.I swear to God, if it’s him...

But Sam won’t listen. What is she even talking about?Is she implying Nate’s like a protective brother?

No. Uh-uh. I refuse to believe that.

Nate was never my brother.

Our house wasn’t big, but it had that cozy, lived-in charm. The walls were lined with old photos of the three of us—me, Josh, and Mom. Two of Nate’s baseball caps hung on the hooks by the stairs. Scraped knees. Summers by the lake.

Our mom, Dana, was the kind of woman who wore soft cardigans and always smelled like coffee and vanilla. Her eyes were tired, like someone who’d survived too much love.

She raised us alone.Josh and I had her dark hair and freckles.Nate... didn’t.

He was all sharp edges and wildfire.

And somehow, he belonged to us.He was always there.But he was not my brother.I never saw him that way.

Even if he didn’t know it.Even if he never looked at me the way he used to when we were younger—before I turned into a girl and he turned into sin.

I remember that afternoon like it’s etched in fire.

I was wandering down the hall in nothing but a tank top and shorts, hair a mess, looking for a snack. The house was quiet—too quiet. Usually meant trouble.

Living room—empty.Kitchen—empty.

“Josh?” I called.No answer.

Where is everybody?

Then I heard it. Music. Thudding bass echoing from the garage.

Ah.The boys’ man cave.Gym. Loud. Sweaty.

I should’ve walked away.

I didn’t.

Instead, I tiptoed to the garage door, heart in my throat.It was open. Just an inch.

And that inch ruined me.

Inside, Josh sat on the bench press, towel over his shoulder, laughing at something Nate said. Both shirtless, skin gleaming with sweat.

Josh looked like an athlete. Broad and lean.

But Nate...

Nate was destruction.

He stood facing away, completely naked except for a towel slung low on his hips.His back was a map of strength. Muscles rippled under bronzed skin.A trail of ink began at his shoulder and disappeared beneath the towel.

He turned.

And I stopped breathing.

Everything—everything—was visible.

He didn’t see me.But my eyes drank him in like salvation.The sharp V of his hips. The ridges of his abs.The black ink sliding down toward forbidden places.His thighs. His—

God.

I clamped a hand over my mouth and backed away fast, heart pounding like a war drum.

I ran to my room like the house was on fire.

Because in a way—it was.

That day lit a match in me.

From then on, I was a mess.

It was like puberty hit all over again.My body felt wrong. My skin burned.I thought I was sick.Sweating through the night.Ache low in my belly—like cramps but worse.

Frustration twisted inside me.I turned into a moody, desperate slut.

I Googled everything.Watched porn.Read erotica.

Closed my eyes and imagined my hands were his.

For a moment, I could breathe again.But little did I know, my obsession was only growing.

That night, I lay in bed, replaying the garage scene on loop.Fingers buried beneath the sheets.Body aching with a heat no teenage girl should know so well.

I whispered his name into my pillow.Bit my lip.Let the memory of his body slide against the inside of my skull until I came with a soft cry—breathless and shaking.

No boy had ever touched me.

But he had ruined me without ever laying a hand.

The next morning, I avoided them both.

Josh was easy—too busy FaceTiming some cheer squad girl.

Nate, though...He lingered like smoke.

I felt his eyes on me at breakfast.

Or maybe I imagined it.

Mom sat between us, sipping her coffee, tired but smiling.“You’re growing up so fast, Katie.”

I blinked. “What?”

She reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.“You’re beautiful, sweetheart. Just like your dad.”

I froze.We never talked about my dad.

“I don’t remember him,” I said quietly.

Her smile faded. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

“But your boobs are my DNA,” she added with a smirk.

Nate’s fork scraped his plate.Josh choked.

“Mom, really? I’m trying to eat here,” Josh muttered.

She laughed.

The air went thick.

“What? It’s true,” she shrugged, lifting her own boobs and pushing them up. “They’re like a cloned version of mine.”

“Okay, I’m done,” Nate muttered, standing up and walking out.

“Jesus,” Josh said, looking at me.

“What did I do?” I snapped.

Mom stood too, still laughing like she got exactly what she wanted.Like making them uncomfortable had been the plan all along.

I opened my mouth to say something.

“What? It’s fun,” she said, grinning.

I gave up.

That afternoon, Sam and I walked home from school.She had a sucker in her mouth—for those who don’t know, it’s a lollipop, nothing else—and I was trying not to die inside thinking about Nate’s towel.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“You’re lying.”

I sighed. “I saw him. Naked.”

Sam stopped walking. “Excuse me?!”

“In the garage. Yesterday. He didn’t see me.”

She grabbed my shoulders. “Was it glorious?”

“Sam—”

“Describe. Every. Inch.”

I shook her off, blushing hard. “I can’t.”

“Girl, I’d frame that memory.”

We laughed.

But it didn’t ease the ache under my skin.

Because Nate wasn’t just a fantasy.

He was real.

And I was drowning.

There’s something about Sunday evenings that makes everything feel too quiet. Like the world is holding its breath. Like time isn’t moving at all.

The house was bathed in the gold glow of late sunlight, shadows spilling across the floors like lazy secrets. Josh was in the living room, gaming with his headset on, yelling trash talk into his mic. I could hear Mom humming in the kitchen—the clink of a spoon against a mug. Or a pot.

And Nate was upstairs.In Josh’s room.

I knew that because I heard the water shut off moments ago. Heard the soft thud of the bathroom door, and the low sound of Nate’s voice behind it. But not speaking to me, of course. Never to me. He was completely oblivious to my existence.

But still—I felt it.Like electricity crawling beneath my skin.

I shouldn’t have gone up there. I knew that. But I did anyway.Those damn teenage hormones.

I wore one of my thinner tank tops—pure coincidence—and the tiniest shorts I owned, the fabric b