He’s my best friend’s older brother, off limits and incredibly tempting.
I shouldn’t peek into Brendon’s sketchbook, even if the tattoo artist is as brooding and stoic as the day is long. I can’t help myself. I peel it open, run my fingers along the paper, soak up every ounce of him.
His drawings are as beautiful and bold as his dark eyes and his cocky smile. Only, there, on the third page–that’s no tattoo mockup. That’s me.
Waiting in his bed.
There’s no denying it. Those are my blue glasses, my green eyes, my flushed cheeks.
Brendon wants me.
The smoking hot, ten thousand miles out of my league bad boy wants me, a good girl v*rgin with thick glasses and no game.
Only it’s not.
He’s my best friend’s older brother. He’s off limits.