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Why won't she answer?Suspicion begins to creep into my thoughts, and I can't help but feel something isn't quite right.
A sudden pang of regret washes over me as Chris's words echo in my mind. He'd mentioned that she might be too young for me. I should've listened to his advice.
Suddenly, we hear the sound of footsteps approaching in the hallway outside.
Fuck.
Panic ignites in our eyes, a shared urgency to stay hidden. With a gentle touch, I guide the woman to crouch lower, our closeness intensifying.
“Stay quiet,” I whisper.
But then it happens.
The woman’s foot knocks against a broom, sending it crashing to the floor.
Shit, I want to scream.
The sound reverberates, and I wince, shooting her a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Our eyes meet, a silent understanding passing between us before we focus on the approaching footsteps. The closet feels even smaller now, our breaths mingling in the tight space. We hold our breath, hoping we won't be discovered.
But then, the doorknob turns slowly.
My reflexes kick in like a well-oiled machine. With an arrogant twist of my lips, I swiftly maneuver to hide behind a stack of blue plastic storage bins just as the door swings open.
But as I find my sanctuary, I realize that in my haste, I've left the woman exposed. She stands there, her presence now unmistakable. As the bright hallway lights filter into the small space, the woman quickly stands up and adjusts her dress.
I watch the scene unfold from my hidden position behind the curtain.
Of all people, the man who stands in the doorway is a tall, red-haired man, none other than my best friend—Chris. His piercing gaze locks onto the woman who had unwittingly stepped into this confrontation. With sharp features etched in frustration and brows furrowed in disapproval, he sizes up the situation.
Chris doesn't waste a moment. His voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “What the hell are you doing in here?” he demands, his tone laced with anger and disbelief.
The woman, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, stammers in response. “I... I didn't mean to intrude. I must've taken a wrong turn.”
Chris doesn't buy her explanation. His irritation doesn't ease off, and he proceeds to accuse her. “This is private property and a private party. You have no business being here. Trespassing is a serious offense.”
As the tension in the room escalates, I remain hidden, my grumpy mood deepening. It's a situation I hadn't anticipated, and I can't help but feel a mix of annoyance and curiosity as I continue to observe, unseen and unheard. I contemplate whether I should go save the woman before it's too late.
“I’m calling the cops,” Chris says, pulling out his cell phone.
My heart skips a beat, and I decide to confront Chris to stop him from calling the cops on her.
But then the woman utters a soft plea. "Wait, Chris," she implores, a tremor in her voice. She reaches up and, with a swift motion, removes her mask.
The room is momentarily charged with a sense of surprise. Chris stares at the unveiled face before him. Her words have also taken me by surprise, though I maintain my hidden stance.
She knows Chris…?
In his voice, now filled with confusion, Chris utters a single word, “Emily?”
“Hey, bro,” she responds.
My eyebrows arch at the unexpected turn of events.
Wait—the woman I just had sex with is… my best friend’s sister?
The weight of what just transpired begins to sink in. I feel so many emotions all at once—a mix of shock, regret, and a growing sense of unease. I've always valued my friendship with Chris, and this situation adds a complicated layer to our relationship. The whole situation feels like a heavy secret, a Pandora's Box of potential troubles.
So many questions flood my mind.
