I pulled open the third drawer to find it full of neatly-folded sweaters.
What?
Who put theirsweatersin the third drawer? That didn’t make any sense.
Maybe it was in reverse. One more drawer, and if I didn’t find the clean underwear I was looking for, I’d give up.
I opened the second drawer and hit pay dirt. Half the drawer was neatly-folded rows of clean underwear.
… the other half of the drawer contained two new tubes of lubricant, an unopened box of condoms, and a bright purple object I was almost positive was a vibrator.
Okay, so… Wes had probably expected me not to snoop.
I changed my mind about borrowing his underwear—he’d know I’d been in the drawer if they were missing—and pulled my jeans on without any, leaving my own by the bed and promising myself I’d apologize for it as I pulled my t-shirt over my head.
I threw my jacket on as I crept out of Wes’s front door, taking a moment to plan my escape.
The guesthouse was shielded from the main house by a big whitewashed privacy fence that meant the door couldn’t be seen from the main house, so all I had to do was get clear of the fence, circle around, and sneak in the back way. Minimal chance of getting caught, maximum chance of pancakes.
I felt like I was in some kind of spy movie as I sprinted across the open ground, hoping my dad wouldn’t look out the window at that exact moment, my heart pounding as I reached the door of the mudroom.
I’d made it. I’d be inside, safe, and all I had to do then was make it to my room and change.
I reached out for the doorknob, and it swung open before I could touch it.
Dad.
In swimming trunks.
I froze.
“Well, well, well,” Dad said, leaning against the door frame, looking me up and down. “I didn’t think I heard you come in last night.”
I was going to die.
Dad hadnevercaught me sneaking in the next morning before.
Because I neverhad. There was a first time for everything.
Even for a man who was turning thirty in a week to have to sneak into his childhood home after staying out all night.
I cleared my throat, unsure how to handle this situation. We both knew why I was wearing yesterday’s clothes.
I hoped Dad wouldn’t notice that my hair was still damp and realize I couldn’t have gone far since I’d showered.
Dad broke into a broad grin and pushed past me toward the pool. “I’m gonna swim a few laps. You’re just in time for pancakes! If you head into the kitchen now, Wes could probably double the batter for us. You’d probably rather tell him about your night than me.”
That was true, but not for the reasons Dad thought.
“I… thanks. I’ll…”
“One question,” Dad said, one hand already on the pool fence. “Was he cute?”
The rush of blood to my face threatened to make me pass out.
“He was cute,” I confirmed, ducking into the house to avoid any further questioning, my dad’s delighted laughter following me inside.
I poked my head into the kitchen to see Wes cracking an egg one-handed on the bench like a professional. His whole face lit up when he saw me, and my heart did a complicated aerial maneuver in my chest.
