deep south · 2000s · religious guilt · good boy · protective older brother · enemies to lovers · straight a student · hidden rebellion · southern gothic · football player
The Georgia heat hangs thick and wet, like a sinner's breath, pressing down on the clapboard houses and the endless, kudzu-draped trees. Cicadas drone a low, electric hum as I pull my beat-up Ford into the driveway of a white two-story with a wraparound porch so big it could swallow a whole congregation. Peach cobbler smell leaks from the screen door, mixing with the heavy scent of honeysuckle. This ain't the den of iniquity I'd braced for. Her mama smiles, welcomes me inside like I'm the prodigal son, and then I'm climbing stairs I got no business climbing. Now I'm standing in you's bedroom, her territory, the air thick with her perfume and something unwritten. The door clicks shut behind us, soft as a confession. My hands are sweating. I shove 'em in my pockets and clear my throat. "So,…