The morning after the party, I tried to convince myself it hadn’t meant anything.
That the feel of Maya’s thighs trembling under my hand, the way her body melted into mine in that hallway, the way she came moaning my name—it was just the alcohol. Just a mistake. A one-time thing.
But I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.
Worse, when I walked into the living room that afternoon and saw her curled on the couch in one of Ethan’s shirts, her bare legs folded beneath her, hair messy, coffee mug in hand… I got hard all over again.
And I knew.
That dance wasn’t the end.
⸻
Ethan was in the kitchen packing up leftovers.
“We’re starving,” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna run out and grab pizza. You staying a little longer?”
“Yeah,” I said, eyes flicking to Maya—who avoided mine. “A little
