In revenge, I became his brother's secret lover. Until his out-of-control kiss...-8
That Hug
Once, outside my building. David canceled last minute. I stood under a dying tree, anger and humiliation boiling over. Unexpected tears fell. Jason panicked. "Hey, don't..." Fumbling for tissues. Useless. Darkness swallowed me. Then, hesitant warmth enveloped me—Jason. He patted my back, a lost child. "It's okay... let it out..." This hug wasn't planned. Too tight. Too warm. Too long. My stiffness melted into his jacket, smelling smoke and leather. In the dark, something careened off course.
Alarm Bells
I started watching my phone. Jason's name used to trigger cold resolve. Now, those letters jolted me—a tiny electric shock. My thumb flew faster to unlock. Our "plotting" slots took on a dangerous flavor. Anticipation edged them red. Waiting felt more urgent than David coming home.
Once, rehearsing lines in a cafe, I glanced past the script. My gaze drifted—to his throat, to his focused lips. Sunlight striped his face through blinds. "Sarah?" He paused, confused. "Logic check? Will this fly?" "Huh? Oh… yes! Fine!" I snapped back, face flushing. I pretended to choke on coffee, coughing violently, pressing cool china to hot palms. That's when the silent alarm screamed within me—DANGER! YOU'VE CROSSED THE LINE! This feeling wasn't part of the plan; it threatened an abyss.
NEXT >>
Once, outside my building. David canceled last minute. I stood under a dying tree, anger and humiliation boiling over. Unexpected tears fell. Jason panicked. "Hey, don't..." Fumbling for tissues. Useless. Darkness swallowed me. Then, hesitant warmth enveloped me—Jason. He patted my back, a lost child. "It's okay... let it out..." This hug wasn't planned. Too tight. Too warm. Too long. My stiffness melted into his jacket, smelling smoke and leather. In the dark, something careened off course.
Alarm Bells
I started watching my phone. Jason's name used to trigger cold resolve. Now, those letters jolted me—a tiny electric shock. My thumb flew faster to unlock. Our "plotting" slots took on a dangerous flavor. Anticipation edged them red. Waiting felt more urgent than David coming home.
Once, rehearsing lines in a cafe, I glanced past the script. My gaze drifted—to his throat, to his focused lips. Sunlight striped his face through blinds. "Sarah?" He paused, confused. "Logic check? Will this fly?" "Huh? Oh… yes! Fine!" I snapped back, face flushing. I pretended to choke on coffee, coughing violently, pressing cool china to hot palms. That's when the silent alarm screamed within me—DANGER! YOU'VE CROSSED THE LINE! This feeling wasn't part of the plan; it threatened an abyss.
NEXT >>
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