Sloane, still very shirtless, threw herself behind Brady and used him as a shield. She peeked around his arm, face in absolute flames.

“Callum, what are you doing here?” Even though she was obviously in the wrong, Sloane couldn’t help but be defensive.

“You mean in the kitchen of my home?”

“You’re supposed to be at work!”

“And you’re supposed to wear shirts in the kitchen, but look how that turned out!” Callum uncovered his eyes but kept them up on the ceiling.

“My shirt is in the garage,” Sloane tried. “There was a spider, and I—”

He waved his hands around and shook his head. “Please for the love of everything holy go to your room and get a new one, and then we can talk.” He moved over to the far side of the kitchen, giving them a wide berth.

Sloane planned to take advantage of that. She started to move, with every intention of continuing to use Brady as a shield, but the bartender didn’t budge. She gave him what was, she knew, a wild look.

His lips were red, but, other than that, he was acting like it was just another day at Cassidy’s.

Completely unaffected.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Make sure you grab something you can get paint on.”

Sloane couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that he didn’t want to go to her room and at least attempt to do anything else, but she wasn’t about to stand around and talk about it. She nodded and then continued her speedy ways, running out of the room and not stopping until she was pressed up against the other side of her closed bedroom door. Early-2000s Tom Welling looked back at her from across the room. Her worn Smallville poster was an instant reminder that she had just been caught making out with a boy in the kitchen of her childhood home.

By her brother.

Shirtless.

Sloane groaned. This was blog post–worthy.

She took a few beats to cool down before going to her dresser. She rummaged around looking for an old shirt that could get messy, all the while feeling slightly overwhelmed by what had just happened.

Why had she kissed Brady?

Well, dagnabbit, she didn’t know.

It had just felt right.

There he was, trying to make her feel better about being a total flailing fool, and then, suddenly, she was pressed against the poor man with a hunger that had burned hotter than any embarrassment ever had.

But he kissed you back. And not just a peck, either.

Sloane pulled out a shirt she’d left behind after a visit from college. It was peach-colored, baggy, and had a weird stain under one armpit. It was perfect for painting in but in no way did any favors when it came to looks. Then again, maybe that was the reason she grabbed it.