All Chapters of Tempting My Brother’s Best Friend: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The house pulsed with low bass from a playlist Jake had queued—something upbeat but not club-rage, a careful balance after weeks of real chaos. String lights someone had dug out of storage twinkled across the backyard porch, and the kitchen island groaned under an absurd spread of pizza boxes, wings, chips, and a suspicious number of desserts Nora had insisted on. It wasn’t a rager. It was exactly what Jake promised: low-key relief.Mia stepped through the front door with Ethan’s hand warm at her lower back. She’d changed into a simple black top and jeans, hair loose. Ethan stayed close in a gray hoodie.“Finally,” Jake boomed from the living room, waving a slice of pizza like a scepter. Nora leaned against him, quick-witted grin already in place, her hand casually tucked into his back pocket. “The golden couple arrives. Try not to eye-fuck each other too obviously. Some of us are eating.”Ethan flipped him off with a tired laugh. “Says the guy who practically lives with his hand on N

Ethan’s sneakers squeaked against the polished gym floor as he powered through another set of box jumps, the burn in his quads a welcome distraction. The athletic center echoed with the usual chaos of morning lifts—clanging plates, grunts, Coach barking corrections from the sideline. Sweat dripped down his back, soaking the hem of his practice shirt, but his mind wasn’t in the weight room. It was back at the psych building, replaying that single frozen frame: Mia and Alex walking side by side, heads bent over project notes, her laugh carrying through the glass like it used to when things were simpler.It’s nothing, he told himself for the tenth time, landing hard on the box before dropping into a squat. Project partners. She told you about it. They’re friends. You’re not that guy anymore.But the insecurity gnawed anyway, a low-grade fever that had started the moment he saw them together. Not the explosive jealousy of last semester—the kind that led to cold shoulders and accusations

Morning light crept through the slats of the blinds, painting pale stripes across Ethan’s living room floor. Mia sat on the edge of the couch, fully dressed in yesterday’s jeans and a fresh hoodie she’d pulled from her bag, her overnight things already packed and zipped tight. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge and Ethan’s steady breathing from where he still slept, one arm draped across the cushion where she had been.She watched him for a long moment, the rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed line of his jaw. Last night had been perfect in the worst possible way—comfortable, safe, familiar. Cooking together like they belonged in that kitchen. The movie fading into background static while his fingers traced lazy circles on her arm. Falling asleep wrapped in him like no time had passed. And then the middle-of-the-night panic, sharp as shattered glass, when she realized how easily they could slide back into the versio

Ethan sat on the edge of his unmade bed, phone gripped tight in his hand, the screen’s glow casting sharp shadows across his face in the dim apartment lighting. The email was still open, the formal language stark against the casual chaos of his room—practice jersey draped over a chair, half-packed duffel bag in the corner for an upcoming away game, textbooks stacked precariously on the desk. Mia leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, her hair still tousled from the night before. She’d come over after morning classes, a quiet check-in that had turned into stolen kisses and more honest talk, but now the mood had shifted.He hadn’t meant to open it in front of her. But the notification had pinged while they were tangled on the couch reviewing notes, and his thumb had hit it instinctively.“What is it?” Mia asked, voice calm but edged with curiosity. She crossed to him, bare feet silent on the floor, and sat beside him. Her hand rested on hi

The practice facility in Los Angeles smelled like fresh rubber, sweat, and ambition. Ethan stood on the sideline of the gleaming court, the kind of court that didn’t have the familiar scuffs and patched spots of his college gym. Overhead lights buzzed with professional intensity, casting perfect shadows on polished wood that reflected like still water. Around him, players—guys who had been in the G-League, overseas, or on the cusp of call-ups—moved with a precision that made college ball feel like a distant memory. No one was coasting. Every cut, every screen, every defensive rotation carried weight.“Carter! You’re up in the next set,” one of the assistant coaches called, clipboard in hand. The head coach, a grizzled veteran with a voice like gravel, had already pulled Ethan aside twice that morning. “You’ve got the instincts. Footwork needs tightening for our pace, but the vision’s there. Show us you can run with these guys.”Ethan nodded, pulling on hi