Confrontation

John wasn’t sure when it started.

Maybe it was the way Claire stopped wearing a bra around the apartment. Or the way her shorts kept getting smaller, thinner. She said it was just for comfort, but John noticed how she stretched in front of Marcus—arms up, shirt riding high. Never in a way that screamed intention, but never exactly innocent, either.

Marcus noticed too. He didn’t hide it.

One morning, John stepped into the kitchen and found Claire reaching into the top cabinet, on her toes. Her sleep shirt—his old college tee—lifted just high enough to expose the bottom curve of her ass. No shorts. Just panties.

Marcus leaned on the counter behind her, sipping coffee, not even trying to look away.

John stood in the doorway for a second.

“Morning,” he said.

Claire looked back over her shoulder, smiling. “Hey, babe.”

Marcus gave a nod. “Yo.”

No one said anything about how close Marcus was. Or how long he kept his eyes on her legs before casually glancing away.

John walked to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, kept his jaw tight.

Claire poured cereal like nothing was weird. “Marcus was saying he wants to get back to working out.”

“Oh yeah?” John asked.

Marcus gave a small shrug, flexing an arm as he drank. “Gotta keep the muscle. Been lazy since I moved.”

Claire glanced at his arm, slow and obvious. “You look fine to me.”

John caught the tone. Light, flirty. A little too comfortable.

He didn’t say anything.

——

Later, John brought it up.

They were lying on the bed. Claire was on her phone, legs draped across his lap. He kept glancing at her, trying to find the right way in.

“You think maybe you’re being a little… loose around him?”

She looked up. “Loose?”

“You know. Just—how you act.”

“I’m just being friendly.”

“You didn’t used to walk around without pants.”

“It’s hot.”

“Yeah, but…”

Claire tilted her head. “You said you weren’t jealous.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying maybe tone it down a little?”

She gave a crooked smile. “You’re cute when you try to be alpha.”

He didn’t respond.

She sat up, leaned over, kissed his cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna jump him in the hallway or something.”

That night, she wandered around in just one of his shirts. No bra. No shorts. Just bare legs and the outline of her thighs every time she passed in front of the TV.

⸻

Marcus stayed up late. John knew because the glow from under the door lasted past 1 a.m.

Claire stayed up too.

Sometime after midnight, she slipped out of bed. Said she was thirsty.

John lay awake in the dark. He could hear the creak of the fridge door, the faint hum of the TV.

Five minutes. Ten.

She came back smelling faintly of citrus and soap. She slid under the covers without a word.

“Still up?” he asked.

“Yeah. Watching something war-related. Loud explosions.”

“He say anything?”

“Nope.”

A beat of silence.

“But he looked,” she said.

John turned to her. “Looked?”

“At me.”

Another pause.

“You okay with that?” she asked softly.

John didn’t answer right away. He felt a tight knot form in his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said finally.

Claire smiled in the dark. “You’re hard right now.”

His breath caught.

She reached under the sheets, found him. Her fingers wrapped around him gently.

“So what if he looks?” she whispered. “He can’t touch.”

“Right.”

She kissed his jaw. “Unless you let me.”

She said it so sweetly it took a second to register.

“What?”

But she was already resting her head against his shoulder again. “Goodnight, baby.”

⸻