Big brother

　　Ben groans. He does that a lot when I ask a question about his family. My fingers run over his jaw, he nibbles on my fingertips and a shudder skitters down my spine. A moment or two later, he sighs again.

　　“I need to be home with them.” With an eye roll, he says, “I don’t want to but I have to.” Ben is eighteen years and old enough to make decisions for himself but I guess his age doesn’t matter in the agreement with his mother. His head falls back on the couch. I trail a line on his chest. “Christmas is compulsory.”

　　My hands slide under his shirt, I trace the space between his abs. “At least you get to see Asher.”

　　“Yeah.” He looks down at me with a half-smile. “I guess so.”