Later that evening

Shadows stretched long by the time we trudged inside. Upstairs, Bella's bedroom door clicked shut behind her shower run. I waited—counting the squeak of taps, the rattle of pipes—before peeling off the damp bikini with deliberate slowness. The gold rings clinked against the bathroom tiles, louder than they had any right to be.

The vest top clung to my ribs as I tugged it down, fabric stretching tight across breasts still tingling from sunscreen and phantom touches. The boy-shorts hugged my hips indecently—Bella's from some forgotten sleepover, the navy cotton worn thin from washes. I hesitated at the landing mirror, sucking in my stomach just enough to make the hem ride higher. *Perfect.*

Downstairs, the fridge hummed in the silent kitchen. Moonlight through the blinds striped the tiles like prison bars as I padded barefoot toward the sink—slow, deliberate. The tap's gush sounded obscenely loud. Behind me, a chair creaked.

James sat at the breakfast table, paperwork scattered under his laptop's glow. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, forearms corded with the kind of muscle only manual labor or middle-aged frustration builds. His gaze flickered from my bare thighs to my mouth in one searing sweep before snapping back to his spreadsheet. "Couldn't sleep?"

I let the fridge door swing shut with a thud that made him flinch. "Too hot," I murmured, dragging the water bottle's rim across my bottom lip just to watch his knuckles whiten around his pen. "Keeps me twitchy. All fidgety under the sheets." The words came out huskier than intended—less complaint, more confession.

James' jaw flexed as he pretended to study his laptop screen. The glow sharpened every line of his exhausted face—the grooves beside his mouth, the vein pulsing at his temple. The collar of his shirt gaped slightly, revealing a wedge of sun-browned skin usually hidden under hospital fundraiser suits. "You should... drink something." His voice sounded wrecked, like he'd been swallowing gravel.

I twisted the water bottle cap slowly, deliberately. The plastic crinkled loud in the thick silence. "Endorphins work better," I murmured, watching his Adam's apple bob. "Always found a release is the best way to get to sleep." The innuendo hung between us, sticky as the humidity clinging to my skin.

His pen snapped.

The sound cracked through the kitchen like a gunshot, plastic shards skittering across the table. I pretended not to notice, tilting my head with exaggerated innocence as I took another slow sip of water. The bottle’s condensation dripped onto my bare thigh, tracing the same path his fingers had earlier. James’ nostrils flared—just slightly—as he stared fixedly at his shattered pen.

"Right," I sighed, stretching my arms overhead until my vest rode up, exposing the dip of my waist. "Guess I’ll head up." I let my gaze linger on his clenched fists, the way his wedding ring caught the laptop’s blue light. "Maybe if I... take matters into my own hands..." I trailed off, biting my lip just enough to make it look accidental.

James made a sound like a wounded animal—low and agonized. His chair scraped back violently as he stood, sending paperwork fluttering to the floor. For a heartbeat, he just stared at me, chest heaving, pupils blown so wide his irises were nearly swallowed.

I turned slowly, letting the fridge light outline my body through the thin fabric as I walked backward toward the stairs. Every step felt choreographed—hips swaying just enough to make the boy-shorts cling, fingers trailing along the banister with deliberate slowness. The silence between us crackled like static.