Throwaway. Obviously. I’ve had this running joke with my coworker Marcus for almost a year. We call each other work spouses, roast each other in the group chat, and somehow the flirting never felt dangerous… until last night. I was feeling myself after a night out. Took a couple mirror pics that were very much not safe for work. Meant to drop them in our private chat with a stupid caption. My thumb slipped. Hit the wrong thread. The one labeled “Daniel – Boss.” I stared at the screen in pure horror for three full seconds. Then the typing bubble appeared. Daniel: “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t appreciate this.” My soul left my body. I started typing every version of “WRONG PERSON I’M SO SORRY PLEASE FORGET THIS” but before I could send anything he double-texted: “Don’t apologize. And don’t delete them. I’ve thought about you like this more than once.” I should have blocked him. Reported him. Burned my phone. Instead I sat there with my heart slamming and wrote back, “…...
I walked into my apartment and heard moaning coming from my roommate’s room. Except… he wasn’t home. And the voice that just said my name wasn’t his.
Okay, throwaway for obvious reasons. I’ve been living with my best friend’s older brother, Jake, for six months. He’s 29, ridiculously attractive in that quiet, brooding way, and we had a very clear rule: no weirdness. Just two adults splitting rent. Last Friday I got home early from work. The second I opened the door I heard it — soft, breathy, and very clearly coming from Jake’s room. I froze. He texted me that morning saying he was staying at his parents’ for the weekend. I should have left. I didn’t. I walked closer and that’s when I heard it: my name. Moaned. Like someone was thinking about me while they… I knocked. The sound stopped immediately. Heart pounding, I said, “Jake…?” Silence. Then the door opened. It wasn’t Jake. It was his identical twin, Tyler. Same face, same height, same everything… except Tyler had this look in his eyes that Jake never did. Like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t entirely sorry about. He was shirtless. Sweat on his chest. And he...