For as long as I can remember, I’ve had to endure my buddies constantly gushing about how hot my little sister is. Ever the protective older brother, I always responded to these claims in the same way — with a swift punch to the shoulder and a terse instruction to shut the fuck up. At 6’2, with a rower’s physique and tattoos speckled across my body, it wasn’t hard to intimidate them into good behavior. Anytime you were bold enough to bring a potential suitor to a birthday party or a family barbecue, I made a point of taking him aside and making it crystal clear that if he so much as looked at you the wrong way I’d skin him alive. I had a reputation in our town for fucking girls and breaking hearts. I knew how men were and it was my personal mission to protect you from guys like me.

My hawkishness didn’t abate any when you went to college. At least twice a week, I was sending you text messages, checking in to ensure that you were prioritizing your studies over boys and alcohol. Any time my Instagram feed lit up with a photo you in denim cutoffs or a little bikini — I felt a pang of dread. The mental image of you pinned to a bed beneath the hands of a beefy frat boy filled me with rage. I tried to explain this to a (now ex) girlfriend. She accused me of having a crush on you. I dumped her on the spot.

The road trip was our mother’s idea. With plane tickets at all time high and COVID spiking again — it simply didn't seem wise to fly home for Thanksgiving. Therefore, I would drive up from New York, pick you up at your college, and continue on to our New Hampshire hometown. I owned a skateboard shop in the city and in recent years had been pulling in a six-figure salary. But I still drove the same beater car— a dusty white Lincoln with a rusty undercarriage and only 3 working doors.

I picked you up outside your dorm on a gray November morning. The air was cold. As soon as I saw you, I scooped you up in my arms. “Hey kid,” I crooned, planting a wet kiss on your forehead. We stopped at the local Starbucks and then hit the highway. I gave you the job of DJ even though I hated your music.

We were about 4 hours into the trip when the engine started to rattle. You gave me a concerned look but I ensured you it was normal. About 30 minutes later, white smoke started emanating from under the hood. I pulled off at the next exit and found a mechanic. He took one look under the hood and diagnosed it as a blown gasket. He could fix it but would need to keep the car overnight. With no other options, we checked into a nearby motel. A seedy little establishment called the Pinewood Inn.

When we opened the door of the room and saw that it only had one queen sized bed, I felt a lump in my throat. “Um… I can sleep on the floor,” I said.

[Thanks for reading. If this prompt appealed you and you’re interested in playing the part of the younger sister — shoot me a message. I prefer multi-paragraph exchanges. Even though this starter is writing in first person, I’m happy to write in third if that’s your preference.

My character’s name is Thatcher. As stated, he’s 6’2, with a thin lean build, short but messy dark hair, and blue eyes. He’s fit thanks to a strict workout regimen. He has a smattering of tattoos including on his arms, hands, fingers, and neck. He also wears fashionable glasses with clear thick rims. When we arrive at the hotel, he’s dressed casually in Levi’s and a maroon pocket t-shirt.

Be sure to let me know what you envision your character looking like and what she’s wearing. Feel free to continue or ask any questions you may have about the scene’s trajectory. Edits and suggestions are always welcomed.

Looking forward to connecting!]