Nothing

Emily didn’t say anything.

The words wouldn’t come anyway, and even if they had, she wasn’t sure they’d help. He looked so awkward—so painfully unsure of what to do with himself, with his limbs, with the fact that she was still half-naked and standing inches away from him. Her heart was still fluttering with adrenaline, her chest chilled and bare, her blouse ruined. She was exhausted. And something about the way he stood there, ashamed and afraid, tugged at her more than she wanted to admit.

So she did the only thing that felt natural in the moment.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

It wasn’t a seduction. Not this time. She meant it as comfort—genuine, wordless, maybe even maternal in its instinct. A thank-you for not gawking, a gesture of shared vulnerability. The boy—young man, she corrected internally—tensed immediately beneath her hands.

And she remembered far too late that she was topless.

Her breasts pressed directly against his chest, soft and warm and unmistakably bare. Her nipples brushed the fabric of his hoodie through the thin cotton, still stiff from the cold. She felt them drag lightly against him as she shifted. There was no way he didn’t feel it.

And God, had she miscalculated.

He made a small, strangled sound in the back of his throat—half gasp, half squeak—and then words started tumbling out of him.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—I just, I didn’t know what to—your shirt was—uh—I didn’t think you’d—”

His arms hovered in the air for a moment before he awkwardly patted her back, fingers twitching like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to make contact.

Emily pulled back slightly, face still flushed, lips parting to reassure him—

And that’s when she felt it.

Her hips shifted against him just slightly—just enough for the front of his jeans to brush against the fabric of her navy skirt.

And something very, very stiff met her there.

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t subtle. Not remotely. He was hard. Desperately, undeniably hard. She could feel the shape of it, pressed against her lower belly through the denim and the cotton of her skirt—and it wasn’t some shy little twitch. It was thick. Upward. Aligned almost painfully in his pants.

Her eyes widened a fraction. She hadn’t meant—

God.

She definitely hadn’t expected that.

She stayed very still for a beat, heart thudding, feeling the full outline of him through his jeans. It felt… substantial. Like he’d tucked a zucchini into his boxers and was trying to pretend it was nothing.

He stammered again, clearly realizing she’d noticed.

“I—I’m so sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean—it just happens sometimes, I swear—”

Emily stepped back finally, a half-laugh catching in her throat, though her face was still hot.

She hadn’t meant to tease him.

She hadn’t meant to test him.

But God help her, now she had another problem. Because he wasn’t just sweet and awkward and blushing anymore.

He was still wearing the one thing she needed.

And now she couldn’t stop picturing what was underneath it.