[Travis's POV]
The ride to campus is mostly silent after that close call in Kayla's room. I swear I saw something flash in her eyes when I asked about that smell. Panic, maybe? She practically shoved me out the door, muttering something about being late for orientation.
The car faintly smells like her, that distinctive mix of deodorant and sweat that tells me she drove home from the gym without showering last night. I inhale deeply, letting the scent fill my lungs, feeling my body respond immediately. I shift in the passenger seat, grateful for the textbook I'm holding in my lap.
I glance at Kayla's hands gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles slightly white from tension. It's funny being driven around by my big sister at eighteen, but that's my reality. Mom threw a fit about it last month, saying I was "the only kid my age without a license" and how it "wasn't proper."
But Kayla shut that down immediately. "Travis doesn't need to drive. It's too dangerous," she'd insisted, that familiar protective edge creeping into her voice. "I can take him wherever he needs to go."
I loved that moment, the way she claimed me, even if it was just about transportation. Sometimes I wonder if she did it deliberately, creating another invisible tether to keep me close, to limit my freedom to wander beyond her sight.
'God, I hope so.'
I study her profile as she drives, the morning light catching on her sharp jawline, the way her short black hair frames her face perfectly. Something about the way she's dressed today, simple flannel open over that tight sports bra, those jeans that hug her athletic thighs, makes my mouth go dry.
"You look stunning, sister," I say, letting the word 'sister' roll off my tongue with deliberate emphasis.
Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and for a moment, I think she's going to ignore me. Then those green eyes flick toward me, dangerous and deep.
"You say that every day, Travis," she mutters, returning her gaze to the road. A slight flush creeps up her neck, barely visible against her olive skin.
"And I mean it every day," I counter, leaning closer across the center console. "Every single day, you look beautiful in new ways."
She doesn't respond, just shakes her head slightly as if dismissing a troublesome thought. The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken tension.
The morning heat is already building despite the early hour, the car's AC struggling against the early September humidity. A bead of sweat trickles down my neck, and I start unbuttoning the top button on my polo. The fabric feels suddenly constrictive, too tight against my skin.
Kayla stops at a red light and turns to me, her eyes narrowing. "What're you doing?"
"Just getting comfortable," I say innocently, letting my fingers linger on the second button. "It's getting hot in here."
Her gaze drops to my exposed collarbone, then snaps back to my face. Something flickers in those green depths, hunger, frustration, desire, before she masks it with sisterly concern.
"Leave it," she says, her voice strangely tight. "Campus has air conditioning. You don't want to look easy on your first day."
I smile, leaving the second button alone but not refastening the first. "Worried about my reputation already? Or worried someone else might like what they see?"
The light turns green, but Kayla doesn't move immediately. A car behind us honks, making her jump. She accelerates perhaps a bit too quickly, the engine growling in protest.
"I'm worried about you understanding how things work," she mutters, knuckles white on the steering wheel again. "Freshman guys who walk around half-dressed get attention they're not prepared to handle."
"And what if I want attention?" I push, watching her profile carefully. "What if I'm tired of being the good little brother who does what he's told?"
She takes a sharp turn into the campus entrance, the movement pushing me against the passenger door. "You have no idea what you're asking for," she says, her voice low and dangerous. "No idea at all."
The parking lot is already filling with students, confident women in practical clothes escorting more carefully dressed men, some holding hands, others maintaining a respectful distance. I spot a group of female athletes in college jerseys, their eyes tracking a slender guy in tight jeans as he walks past.
Kayla follows my gaze and scowls. "See what I mean? They're like wolves."
"And what does that make you?" I ask, leaning close enough that my breath tickles her ear. "My protector?"
Kayla's hand suddenly leaves the steering wheel, reaching out to cup my face. The gesture is so unexpected that I freeze, my breath catching as her warm palm caresses my cheek.
"Travis, listen to me," she says, her voice softening as her thumb strokes my skin. "I will always protect you. Always. No matter how old we get or what happens between us. If you ever call me, I'll come running. That's a promise."
Her eyes are intense, searching mine with an almost desperate sincerity. I feel the heat of her palm against my face like a brand.
"But I want you to be happy," she continues, her voice catching slightly. "Most men find their wives in college. That's just how it works. And as much as I'd love to follow you around campus all day, keeping the wolves at bay..." She pauses, swallowing hard. "I don't want to mess up your chances of meeting a nice woman who'll treat you right."
'She can fuck right off with that bullshit. There's only one woman I want, and she's sitting two inches away from me with her hand on my face. The thought of anyone else touching me, claiming me, makes my stomach turn.'
The heat of her palm against my cheek is almost unbearable, sending sparks down my spine. I can't help myself, my eyes drift down to where her flannel parts, revealing the taut lines of her stomach between her sports bra and jeans. The defined muscles there tense as she breathes.
"What if I don't want to meet some 'nice woman'?" I challenge, unable to tear my gaze from her abs. "What if I prefer the dangerous ones? The ones with muscles who could pin me down without breaking a sweat?"
I'm practically salivating now, imagining those strong arms holding me in place. A small drop of moisture forms at the corner of my mouth, and I don't bother wiping it away.
Kayla's hand drops from my face like I've burned her. She stares at me, those green eyes widening before narrowing to dangerous slits.
"Travis," she snaps, and I can hear the strain in her voice. "You need to stop this. Right now."
I lean back in my seat, arms spread in feigned innocence. "Stop what? Being honest?"
Her fist slams against the steering wheel, startling both of us. "Stop playing around! This isn't a game!"
The sudden outburst hangs between us. Her breathing is ragged, her eyes slightly wild. I've pushed too far, too fast.
I sigh, deflating a little. "Alright, alright."
The tension in her shoulders eases slightly, but her knuckles remain white on the wheel. She takes a deep breath, visibly collecting herself.
"Listen," she says, her voice steadier now. "Before you date anyone, anyone at all, I have to approve of them first. I need to know they're going to treat you right."
Her protectiveness sends a thrill through me. It's possessiveness disguised as sisterly concern, and we both know it.
"Of course," I agree easily. Then, testing the waters again: "You know, I feel the same way. I don't want you dating anyone without my approval either." I lean closer, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I'd hate if someone took advantage of my big sister."
Her eyes snap to mine. For a moment, I think she might reach for me again.
Instead, she laughs, a short, harsh sound with no humor in it. "Travis, I'm not a clueless idiot like you."
"Maybe not," I shoot back, unbuckling my seatbelt. "But I still want to be able to approve."
The look she gives me could melt steel, but I just smile, enjoying the way her jaw clenches. She kills the engine and we sit in silence for a beat too long, the air between us electric.
Finally, Kayla exhales, running a hand through her short black hair. "Come on," she says, her voice softer now. "I'll walk you to your orientation."
My heart does a little flip in my chest. Despite our tension, I can't help the rush of excitement as we exit the car and start walking across campus. The sea of students parts around us, but I barely notice them. All I can focus on is Kayla beside me, her presence both comforting and thrilling.
Without thinking, I reach out and take her hand in mine. Her fingers are warm and strong, fitting perfectly between my own. For a glorious moment, about a hundred feet, she doesn't pull away. Her hand tightens around mine, fingers interlaced like she used to do when we were kids when she'd walk me to middle school and protect me from "bullies."
Then reality seems to crash back down on her. She swats my hand away, her eyes darting around to see if anyone noticed.
"Travis, stop," she hisses, but her voice lacks conviction. The look in her eyes tells me everything. She wants to keep holding on as much as I do.
I don't push it, though. Small victories, remember? The fact that she held my hand at all, in public, is progress.
We approach Meyer Hall, an imposing brick building where clusters of nervous-looking freshmen are already gathering. Kayla slows her pace, lingering at the entrance.
"Look, I'll be in the lab all day, so we'll meet up when we leave," she says, her eyes scanning the crowd as if assessing threats.
I nod, trying not to show my disappointment at being separated from her for the whole day.
Her brow furrows suddenly, and she turns back to me. "Do you have lunch money?" Before I can answer, she's already pulling out her wallet, ready to provide.
"Yeah, Mom gave it to me yesterday, so I'm good," I assure her, touched by her concern despite myself.
She doesn't look convinced, gnawing at her lower lip as she studies my face. "Is it enough? You're a growing boy." Her eyes flick down my body for a split second, then back to my face.
I can't help but smile at her fussing. "It's plenty. Thank you."
She hesitates, then reaches out to straighten my collar, her fingers brushing against my neck. The touch leaves me begging for more.
"Just... be careful in there," she murmurs, close enough that I can smell her shampoo. "Don't let anyone push you into anything you don't want to do, okay? Call me if theres any issues."
"Of course, Kayla."
"And I'll text you to check up on you, okay?" she adds, pulling her phone from her pocket and waving it for emphasis. Her thumb hovers over the screen like she's already composing the first message.
"I love your overbearingness," I say with a genuine smile, enjoying the way her eyebrows twitch at my choice of words.
"It's not overbearing to care about my little brother," she mutters, but there's a hint of pleasure in her eyes at my comment. "Someone has to make sure you don't get into trouble."
"And you do such a good job of it," I reply, letting my voice drop an octave lower as I lean in slightly. "Always watching over me."
Her nostrils flare slightly, and I can almost see her pulse quickening at the base of her throat. "Just... behave yourself," she manages, taking a small step backward. "And answer my texts. If you don't, I'll come looking for you."
The threat sends a delicious shiver down my spine. "Is that a promise?"
Kayla clenches her jaw as if she's holding back a torrent of emotion and gives me a gentle push toward the building.
"Go. You're gonna to be late."
I turn to leave but can't resist one parting shot. Looking back over my shoulder, I catch her eyes still fixed on me. "I'll miss you sister."
Her face flushes and she opens her mouth to respond, but I'm already striding away, the weight of her gaze burning into my back. I don't need to look to know she's watching me until I disappear inside.