It started innocently enough.
My boyfriend James had gone away for the weekend on a last-minute work trip, something about a client in Barcelona needing hand-holding. He texted me late Saturday night, said his return flight was delayed until Sunday evening. I didn't mind. The house was quiet, warm, and mine.
I invited Ava over.
Ava was my friend—but she’d always been something more in the undercurrent. She had a way of talking that turned compliments into caresses, and eyes that wandered a little too long on my lips. Her confidence unnerved me. She was a little older, a little more experienced, the type who wore silk robes at home with nothing underneath just because it “felt honest.”
We started with wine. Talked about nonsense: work stress, books we hadn’t finished, the tension betwee
