Then reality crashes back in. I just jerked off thinking about Sydney—Sydney, who’s right on the other side of that door.
Sydney, who’s my fake girlfriend. Sydney, who’s my best friend’s sister. Sydney, who has no idea the kind of mess I really am.
Shame burns hot in my face as I clean myself up, tucking the evidence into the tissue and zipping my jeans with hands that aren’t quite steady. What the hell is wrong with me? This was supposed to be an arrangement with clear boundaries. And here I am, crossing them in the most pathetic, basic way.
The water drains from the tub with a gurgling sound that seems accusatory. I need to get rid of this tissue, splash some cold water on my cheeks, and pull myself together before Sydney sees me and reads what I’ve done on my face.
I can sneak down the hall to the guest bathroom, dispose of the evidence, and be back before she’s done. Decision made, I move quickly, easing my bedroom door open with a silent prayer that the hinges don’t creak.
The hallway is dark except for the small nightlight Meema keeps plugged in near her room. I creep past her door, holding my breath, the tissue clutched in my hand.
The guest bathroom is cold and impersonal compared to mine—no bubble bath supplies, no hints of Sydney’s presence. I flush the tissue, wash my hands twice, and then splash water on my face. In the mirror, my reflection looks back at me—flushed, guilty, and completely fucked in so many ways it’s silly.
“This stops now.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Whatever is happening between Sydney and me—whatever real thing is growing beneath our fake relationship—it’s not going to stop just because I want it to. It’s a runaway train, picking up speed with every touch, every look, every moment we spend together.
As I creep back down the hallway, I hear the bathroom door open, Sydney emerging in what I imagine is a cloud of steam and floral scent. I freeze, weighing my options. If I return now, we’ll have an awkward hallway encounter with me looking freshly guilty. If I wait, she might wonder where I went.
“Brooks?” Sydney’s voice is soft, uncertain. “You out here?”
Too late. Decision made for me.
“Yeah,” I call back, keeping my voice casual. “Just getting some water. You want anything?”
“No, I’m good.” A pause. “The bath helped. I was really tense after... everything today.”
I bet it did.
I get a glass of water and then make myself walk toward her, toward my room, like a normal person who didn’t just get off thinking about her naked in his bathtub. She’s standing in the doorway, hair damp and piled on top of her head, wearing those ridiculous Smurf pajamas that shouldn’t be attractive but somehow are.
“Yeah, it was...” I search for a word that encompasses the awkwardness of the party, Jonah’s barely concealed hostility, and the tension thrumming between us. “...a lot.”
She nods, stepping aside to let me in. I can’t seem to stop myself from inhaling her scent as I pass—and my body, traitor that it is, stirs with interest again.
She reaches onto the dresser and picks up the blue tie I abandoned, saying, “You should wear this. It’s nice.” She brings it to her nose, inhaling. “And it smells like you.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Definitely.”
She sets it down and perches on the edge of the bed. “Thanks for what you said. At the party. About my deserving better than Jake. It was... convincing.”
There’s a question in her eyes, one I’m not ready to answer. “Just playing my part,” I say, because it’s easier than the truth.
Something flickers across her face—disappointment? Relief? It’s gone before I can tell.
“Right.” She stands. “Well, I should get some sleep. Big work prep day tomorrow.”
She pauses at her side of the bed, looking at me with those clear blue eyes that see too much. “Brooks? Are we okay?”
“We’re fine,” I lie, because what else can I say? That I just got myself off thinking about her in the bath? That I’m keeping a secret that would make her run amile in the opposite direction?
She studies me for a moment longer, then nods, accepting the lie. “Goodnight, then.”
“Night, Syd.”
After she climbs into bed, I sit on the bed, head in my hands. Jonah was right. There’s no way I make it out of this unscathed.
