Please note: (18+) This story includes adult content that may not be suitable for younger readers.》


I don't understand why I can't remember anything past getting sick and then waking up. I got a few flashes of memory earlier, murky images and a few impressions, like the photo of his mother, but nothing else. I rub my forehead, hearing him just outside the kitchen as I lean against the counter, and deposit my now empty mug into his spotless sink.

"Your clothes are in the bathroom if you're ready to get dressed?" he says from behind me and I turn, leaning my hip against the counter. I tilt my head as he steps from the dim hallway into the light of the kitchen.

His eyes look darker, the caramel highlights merging with the deep chocolate undertones. He's more striking than I remember, his presence making my vision tunnel until he's the only thing I see, and my breath leaves me in a rush. I cross my arms, steeling myself against the sudden flutter in my stomach.

Still shirtless and barefoot, dressed only in his sweatpants, and yet I can't help but look as he strolls up to the island between us and lays a hand flat against the marble. "I'll be upstairs if you need me. The bathroom is the second door on the right. I left the light on."

I nod, incapable of voicing anything as he stares at me a second more. He's a little more bossy too . He cocks his head, his eyes dipping down to my crossed arms and then back up before fisting his hand and turning on his heel. I watch the muscles of his back, my eyes glued to his broad shoulders, tappered waist, and the deep valley of his spine. It's merely a few seconds, but it's enough to make my hands itch in curiosity.

Would his back be hard beneath my fingers with all those muscles or pliable enough to dig my nails into?

Shaking my head, I push off the sink, and follow in his wake. Finding the bathroom he indicated easily. It's a small half bath, probably for guests as there is no shower or tub. It's simple, the lack of marble and tile obvious as my bare feet meet real wood. I spot my clothes, folded next to the sink, and shut the door.

I honestly don't want to put my dress back on, but the alternative is leaving in Kalendar's clothes, and I don't actually know if or when I'd be able to return them.

Pushing my hair back, I do it in a quick braid, and wrap it around itself until it's as close to a bun as I can manage with the ends tucked through the middle. Pulling off his shirt, I smell him, and my toes curl against the old wood beneath me. "Geeze girl, get a grip. It's just his cologne," I mumble to myself as I fold the shirt and set it aside.

My thoughts are all over the place. His family. Waking up next to him. The kiss in his classroom. The kiss in his kitchen, and-

I stop myself before the full flood of embaresment hits me again and reach for my underwear. Angry now at myself, I whip the little ball of pink lace between my hands, and I pause as I spot the knot of fabric. Confused, I pick at it with my nails, wondering how the hell such a tight knot could form, and then I realize it's because they tore.

The delicate frayed edges stick out with tiny threads on either side where I'd picked, the lace not coming together, and I let out a defeated huff in exasperation.

Could today not be anymore weird?

Waking up next to Kalendar was... part elation and shock. Having him rub my feet under the table was bliss, but finding out he's been, so called, friends with Remy all this time? I don't know what to make of it, but I'm already planning to grill her the moment I see her.

I yank on the underwear, needing some kind of coverage, and grimace as sits askew on my hips. The thong uncomfortable as it pulls against my skin, dipping further between my cheeks, and putting pressure where it shouldn't be.

I adjust it as much as I...