I made a decision. A strategic, bulletproof, unshakable decision: avoid Leo at all costs until this cursed wedding. Two weeks. That’s it. I could handle two weeks of dodging his golden-boy smirk, two weeks of pretending like I wasn’t still thinking about that night where things got... sweaty, intense, and a little too borderline illegal in his bed.
I had a plan. I’d be out of the house before him, back after he went to bed. I turned into this phantom housemate-s***h-workaholic hybrid. I could feel his confused stares across the breakfast bar whenever I flew past him, avoiding eye contact like he was a male version of Medusa and I clung to work like it was the last life raft on the Titanic. I organized clothes, reorganized them by color, size, occasion, and then back again. I even tried pl
