You Are So Not My Type (Sibling Goals #2)

Chapter One

Hattie

"This is stupid," I whisper, staring at my brother's teammate like he might bite. Frankly, he might. Sidney Hawkes is what happens if you cross a giant with a raging bull. He's cranky as hell, bigger than a mountain, and looks like he makes little kids cry just for fun.

In short, he's terrifying.

He's also going to save my life.

He doesn't know that part yet.

I'm still trying to figure out how to break the news to him…preferably without him deciding to break me.

I take another giant gulp of whatever my brother, Tye, poured in my cup, trying not to choke on it. Whatever it is, it's strong. My head is already swimming. That's the only excuse I have for why I'm still staring at Sidney.

He isn't looking at me. No one at my brother's parties ever looks at me. I'm basically a Ficus in the corner, only with boobs and a designer dress. Unlike everyone else at the party, being ignored by Sidney doesn't feel personal. He's giving everyone the same treatment.

I think he hates us all equally.

"You can do this," I mumble.

"Did you say something?" a gorgeous WAG beside me asks, blinking like she only just noticed me. Her brows pull together in a look that's all too familiar. It screams that I do not belong here.

She isn't wrong. Tye's mansion is packed with important people. Everyone who is anyone in the Chicago sports world is here right now. And then there's me, included by default because all my brothers are famous athletes. Fans actually call them the Holy Trinity.

Gag me with a freaking spoon. Seriously. Please, gag me. They aren't that cool, not when I grew up in the same house as their smelly gym socks.

The rest of the world does not agree. But the rest of the world is not me. I'd rather be in my pajamas, reading or talking to my fish than partying with my oldest brother's friends. My mother would literally kill me, though. Tye is getting married, and I'm in the bridal party. I have to be here.

Apparently, all wedding-related festivities are mandatory, even the annoying ones like parties. I did not know that when Vanessa asked me to be a bridesmaid. I thought I just had to show up, help her get ready, walk down the aisle without falling, eat cake, and then go home.

Yeah, no.

I'm never doing this again.

"You're Tye's sister or something, right?" the WAG asks, still staring at me like she tasted something sour.

"That's me."

"That's wild," she says, eyeing me up and down. "Your brother is hot. You look nothing alike."

"I was adopted." It's only a tiny lie. I wasn't adopted, but my brothers are all annoyingly beautiful people like my mom. I'm…well, me. I look like my dad, who died when I was nine. Except God didn't give me his height or talent. Instead, he gave me social anxiety, no filter, and frizzy hair.

Tye, Briggs, and Harlan never treat me any differently, no matter how awkward I make things, but the same cannot be said for my mother or the rest of the world. As far as they're concerned, I crash-landed on this planet and should be sold to science.

"Ah, that explains it," the WAG says, not even realizing—or caring—how offensive she's being. They never do. In this world, when you aren't an important person, your feelings don't matter.

"Well, I'd love to stay and be insulted a little more," I chirp, wriggling my way to my feet. I stumble in my heels before I manage to catch myself. "But I have a grump to proposition."

"You—what?"

"Bye, Felicia."

"Felicia? That's not my name," the WAG mutters, her tone confused.

"Really? Weird." I wobble dangerously on my way across the room, my eyes locked on Sidney. He's still standing in the corner, glaring like he'd rather burn the place down than pretend to have a good time.

Huh. Maybe I can convince him to torch it. That'd get me out of here. It's not like Tye is ever home, so I doubt he'd miss his stuff if it all burned.

My mother catches my gaze from across the room, giving me one of those patented looks.

You know, the ones that promise murder and a lifetime of regret if you aren't on your best behavior?

Funny how my brothers never get those looks, when they're usually the ones all over the news for one reason or another.

I'm an angel.

I step up beside Sidney, waiting for him to notice me.

He doesn't.

He's staring into his beer like it holds the answers to the universe. I step closer, intending to clear my throat.

Instead, I catch a whiff of whatever magical cologne he's wearing.

Jesus. He smells edible. He's also a lot bigger than I ever seem to remember, which is probably because I make a point to not be where he is.

The man scares me. I mean, I don't think he'd actually break me in half or anything if I tried to strike up a conversation, but why risk it?

It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I find him wildly attractive. So what if he stars in more than a few of my fantasies? That doesn't mean I like him. I just like looking at him. There's a difference.

If I keep telling myself that, one day, it'll be true, right?

Right.

"You look extra cranky tonight," I say. At least, that's what I intend to say. I think I actually say, "Hey, Cranky Bear."

He slowly turns in my direction, his gaze running down my body. For a moment, I forget to breathe. Every inch of him is hard and disgruntled, but there's this softness in his green eyes that always catches me off guard. It makes him way more beautiful than I'm ever prepared to deal with.

"Hattie," he rumbles, his lips pursed behind his beard. "Did you just call me a cranky bear?"

"What? No. I said you look extra cranky tonight," I lie. "But the music is loud. You probably misheard."

"I'm sure that's it." His gaze runs down my body again, lingering on my boobs for a moment before he pointedly turns his head, staring across the room. I think he's looking at a supermodel, and a little part of me wants to sink through the floor.

I know I'm not everyone's cup of tea—or anyone's, really. Most women grow into their curves. My body missed that memo. I'm just short and round everywhere. It doesn't usually bother me, but not gonna lie, sometimes, being the last girl on the planet that men want to date sucks.

It's not even like Sidney is my type or anything. I cannot deal with a hot, cranky giant. But still. What girl doesn't want to be irresistible to a hunk of a man with muscles for days at least once in her life?

I take another big gulp of whatever the hell is in my cup. "I heard you drew the short straw."

"What?"

"The short straw. You're the best man."

"Oh." Sidney pushes a hand through his dark hair, his long fingers ruffling strands, and looks at me like he's still trying to figure out how the hell he got roped into that. "Yeah, that's me."

"Cool. I need you to save my life," I blurt.

"Uh…" His gaze runs across me again. "You look good to me, butterfly."

Butterfly. Oh, I like that.

"I'm really not," I whisper.

For some reason, that seems to worry him. He gets serious fast, standing up straight, his eyes glued to me. "What's wrong? What do you need?"

This is it. This is the moment.

"Date me."

His brows pull together, his expression going from concerned to confused and then back. "Either you have a head injury, or I'm hearing shit. I thought you said—"

"I did. I need you to date me."

"What the fuck?" He narrows his eyes, glancing around. For some reason, he looks pissed. "Did Tye put you up to this? Tell him to fuck off with his jokes."

"It's not a joke!" I grab his arm before he can slide past me. "I need you, Sidney. Otherwise, my life is over."

He glances down at my hand on his arm and then up at my face. "Let me see your cup."

I immediately hold it out to him.

He takes it, lifting it to his lips. My clit absolutely does not twitch when he places his lips in the exact spot where my lipstick stains the cup, taking a sip.

After a second, he grunts, lowering the cup. "Vodka," he growls, his eyes coming back to me.

"Oh. Is that what that is?"

"How many of these have you had, Hattie?"

"Just one."

"Uh-huh. Try again."

"Fine, two."

"You're drunk."

I hold my thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart because, yeah, I probably am. I don't ever drink, and I feel braver than usual right now. But that doesn't change the facts. "I'm serious, Sidney. I need you to date me or my life is over."

He stares at me for so long, I begin to think that maybe he's drunk too. Or maybe he just tuned me out. And then he gives his head a sharp shake, sighing so loud I'm sure the angels in heaven hear it.

"Come on," he growls, sliding one arm around my waist. "Let's go."

"Go? Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home, baby. Before you ask some other asshole to date you and they're stupid enough to agree."

Oh. Ouch. Would dating me really be that terrible?

Judging by the look on his face…yes, yes, it would.

"Maybe I'll just stay here," I say, trying to slip free of his grip.

"No." He hauls me closer, his expression stony. "I'm getting you out of here. Your brother will flip the fuck out if he sees you like this. He's got enough on his plate right now."

"Then he shouldn't have given me alcohol," I grumble, still trying to wriggle free, but it's no use. Honestly. Why can't football players be normal-sized?

"Tye gave you the vodka?"

"Yep."

Sidney's dark look turns pitch-black, his gaze flitting toward my brother, who is holding court in the middle of the living room, his arms around Vanessa. They both look so damn happy.

It's because they aren't being hustled out by a cranky giant who thinks dating her would be stupid.

"You know what? Fine," I mutter, deflating. "Take me home. I didn't even want to come here anyway."

"That makes two of us," he says, guiding me toward the door.