The city is just like I imagined. Loud, messy, and way too hot. But this apartment? A total furnace. No breeze, no break from the heat pressing in from every side.

I'm flopped on the couch, flipping through one of Susan's magazines, pretending I care about summer fashion. Every page is packed with perfectly lit, photoshopped women. Waists the size of my wrist. Huge boobs. Legs that go on forever. Super relatable.

I glance down at myself. Hot shorts clinging to wide hips and my soft ass practically spilling out. Thin tank, no bra, nothing to hide how flat I am. Guess that’s not what sells.

My sister's been buzzing around the kitchen all morning, full of nervous energy. She hasn't stopped since I got here. Like staying busy is the only way she can handle me being in her space.

We're not close. Never have been.

She’s older, moved out when I was still a kid, while I was stuck at home with a dad who barked like a general, and a mom who just nodded and smiled through all of it.

She's tall. Athletic. Shiny brown hair that somehow always falls in the right place. I bleach mine blonde and hope it makes me look like someone else.

She's a head nurse. I just got into art school.

Susan is the golden child. I'm the screw-up.

And this wasn't even my idea. Mom practically shoved me out the door for this vacation, swearing a summer in the city would be good for me. Said I should get used to it.

Pretty sure it's because I snuck out with Tim after prom and they caught us having sex. Not my smartest move. But I wasn't starting college as a virgin, and Tim felt safe.

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't this weird tension.

I don't even think Susan wants me here. Maybe this whole vacation before I start college thing is just to get Mom off her back.

And then there's her boyfriend, Jake. He barely talks to me, but when he does, it feels like he sees straight through me. I can't tell if I hate it or kind of like it.

The front door opens. My heart jumps like a reflex and I glance up.

Jake walks in from his morning run, dripping sweat. He's wearing gray shorts and a blue T-shirt soaked through, clinging to every inch of muscle. His brown hair is damp and messy, sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed from the heat.

All man. Confident without trying. And next to him, every guy I've kissed seems like some awkward kid who still fumbles with a bra.

I snap my gaze back to the magazine in my lap, cheeks burning.

God, Becky, get it together. He's your sister's boyfriend. And at least ten years older. Off limits. Period.

"Morning," Jake says, smiling at me. His voice is deep, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

"Morning," I mumble, eyes glued to an ad for overpriced perfume. My pulse is racing, and I seriously wish it wasn't. He's just a guy. I've met a hundred like him. Right?

He walks past me into the kitchen, and I finally exhale. Tension I didn't even know I was holding spills out of my chest.

Then his arms wrap around Susan. She’s wearing this pale yellow sundress that looks like it was made for a church picnic. And somehow, she still looks hot. He pulls her close, going in for a kiss. She pushes him away.

"Ew, Jake, you're all sweaty."

I'd let him press that sweaty body right up against mine. Let him kiss me, sloppy and hot. I'd wrap my arms around his neck and melt into him. Maybe he'd carry me straight to the shower.

What is wrong with me? I blink hard at the page, trying to breathe, and lift the magazine higher, like that'll help.

"Come on, babe. One kiss," Jake says, still playful.

"Becky."

Just my name. That's all it takes to remind me I don't belong here. In the way.

I snap the magazine shut and toss it on the couch. No use pretending I didn't hear the silent why are you still here hanging in the air.

"Sorry for existing," I mutter as I stand. Not loud enough to be heard.

As I stomp across the room, Jake steps into my path. We bump, and his hands land on my arms, steadying me.

I look up and fall into his eyes. Deep and stormy, like dark waves crashing under a lightning sky. Something in them that pulls at me.

It's like standing on the edge of that bungee platform again. Heart in my throat. Not sure if I want to fall or run.

"Sorry," he says, his mouth curving into a crooked grin. The kind that feels like an invitation I shouldn't want. But I do.

My skin still tingles where he touched me. I turn and head down the hall, past the bathroom. The shower's running. And just like that, my brain short-circuits.

I picture him in there. Steam curling around his body. Water sliding down his chest. Dripping from his hair.

I see him bracing one hand against the tile. Head bowed. Eyes shut.

Maybe thinking about me. Maybe even touching—

Fuck, Becky!

I shake my head and keep walking.

I reach the guest room. Jake's office, technically. But it's where I sleep, crammed onto a pull-out couch smelling like paper and stale coffee.

I shut the door behind me. Not hard enough to be dramatic, just enough to let out some of the pressure building in my chest.

The room is sweltering, the heat thick and stifling. I cross to the window and push it open, hoping for a little relief.

The city sprawls out below. Rooftops, neon signs, and traffic crawling through the humid summer haze. From the fifth floor, I feel trapped. Like I'm watching the world through glass.

Leaning on the windowsill, I let the faint morning breeze touch my face. Barely there, but I'll take it.

I stay like that for a few moments, eyes on the city, trying not to think about Jake. About his hands. About that stupid grin.

Then I hear it.

Susan's voice, floating through the air. Quiet at first. Their bedroom window must be open too.

"I'm sorry, babe," Susan says, softly. "It's just so hot, and having my sister in the room next to us kills my mood."

"Oh, come on," Jake says, half teasing, half annoyed. "She's not a kid, Susan. She's almost nineteen. Pretty sure she knows what sex is."

My breath catches. Everything in me locks up.

I should close the window. Turn on the fan. Do literally anything but listen.

Then Jake laughs. Low. Smug.

"Not like she's some innocent angel, anyway. Didn't she hook up with that guy in an abandoned parking lot after prom?"

Heat slams into my face like I've been slapped.

That was supposed to be between me, Tim, and, unfortunately, my parents. Now Susan knows. And Jake. And he's laughing. At me.

"It's not about her," Susan snaps. "It's about me not wanting her to hear us, Jake."

He groans. "You're overthinking it. She probably has headphones on or is scrolling through her phone. She's basically glued to that thing. You really think she's sitting there eavesdropping?"

But I am.

And hearing Jake talk about me like I'm some basic, clueless girl. Like I'm a joke. It hurts.

My chest tightens as I step back from the windowsill.

"Well," Susan's voice cuts through, quieter now. "Maybe if we're really quiet."

There's a shuffle. Some kind of movement I can't place.

Then it comes.

"Oh, Jake," my sister says. High-pitched. Breathless.

Oh god.

I walk away from the window and sink onto the couch, like a few feet of space could wipe that sound from my head.

The noises keep coming. Soft murmurs. A creak. Another. All of it slipping right through the thin wall between their room and mine.

They're doing it.

I sit there, still as stone, like if I don't breathe too loud, it might stop.

The sounds are faint but clear. The soft thump of the headboard. A sigh. The slow, steady rhythm.

It should make me cringe. Or gag. Or cover my ears.

But it doesn't.

My skin buzzes, flushed and restless, like I've been holding my breath too long.

I hate this. Hate that I'm still listening. Hate that Jake's face keeps pushing its way into my head. Hate that my body is reacting. But more than anything, I hate how badly I want my sister's boyfriend.

I lie back on the couch and close my eyes.

He's in my head right away. Jake in the kitchen, shirt soaked through. That calm in his eyes. The way he looked at me. His hands on my arms. That wide grin, like he already knew.

The noises sharpen—wet, fast.

Jake is fucking my sister.

I should be disgusted. Should get up and leave. But I just lie there, eyes shut, the heat pressing in from all sides.

And then I imagine him. Not with her. With me.

His body over mine, heavy and warm. His mouth on my neck, fingers tangled in my blond hair.

My hand moves lower, slipping past the waistband of my shorts.

Fingers find skin. Warm. Damp.

My clit pulses under the lightest touch. Already swollen. Aching. I spread myself with two fingers, slowly, like I'm testing how far I'll let this go.

In my head, Jake's inside me. Thrusting. Deep. Hard. Like I've wanted since the first time he looked at me.

The couch creaks beneath me, matching the rhythm I hear through the wall. I move with it. With him.

I imagine his body pressed tight against mine. His grip on my waist. The way he'd look at me.

My core burns. Everything tightens. The throbbing between my legs builds fast—too fast.

I'm soaked. Wetness slipping down my crack as two fingers thrust in and out. Messy and desperate. So fucking good.

My other hand works my clit, faster now, circling until my legs shake.

I bite down hard on my lower lip, trying to keep quiet.

A grunt slips through the wall.

I pretend it's for me.

Behind my eyelids, everything explodes. My muscles clamp down around my fingers. My back arches off the couch. Hips grind. Toes curl tight.

A sound rips out of me, half gasp, half moan. Too loud.

Heat slams through me in waves. My whole body jerks. I can't breathe right.

Then nothing.

Just me, flat on this gross couch, sweaty and shaking like I've just run a mile. The ceiling spins.

And the shame comes in like a punch to the gut. What the hell is wrong with me?!

I just got off thinking about my sister's boyfriend. While he was inside her.

Yep. My parents were right. I'm totally screwed in the head.

I hear the door open, then close again. Footsteps. Keys. The front door creaks, then clicks shuts.

Their usual morning routine. They're probably off to work now, smiling, pretending everything's perfect.

The silence after feels thick.

I stay on the pull-out, sticky with sweat. Legs still trembling. Ears ringing.

Heat keeps rolling through me in waves, shame twisting in my gut.

And then the door swings open.

I jolt upright, hand yanking out of my shorts.

My cheeks go up in flames as I lock eyes with Jake standing in the doorway in a suit. No tie, sleeves pushed up.

His eyes flick down to my lap. My fingers. Slick with everything I don't want him to see.

His jaw drops. "Oh," he breathes.

He doesn't move. Doesn't look away. Just stands there.

"I thought you left," I blurt. My voice comes out too loud.

Jake blinks. Opens his mouth. Nothing.

I grab the blanket and yank it over my lap, trying to look casual and failing hard. I wipe my fingers on the fabric, quick and discreet. Like that's gonna erase what just happened.

He still hasn't moved. Just stands there, hand on the doorknob, like he glitched.

Well, this is awkward as fuck.

Finally, he moves.

His brow furrows. He glances at the door like he's trying to remember why he came in.

"I, uh... Need my laptop," he says, quietly. Almost apologetic.

"I'll just..." He gestures vaguely toward the desk and steps inside, slow and careful, like I might bolt if he moves too fast.

His eyes flick to my face—flushed, obviously—then snap away just as quick.

I look down, my face burning. "It's fine," I mumble. "Go ahead."

He grabs the laptop, stiff and awkward, like touching anything might make this worse.

When he turns back, his eyes catch mine again. And for a second, we just stare.

Neither of us moves. Neither of us speaks.

"Sorry," he says finally, voice low. "I didn't mean to—uh... interrupt. I'll knock next time."

I shake my head fast, throat tight.

"No, it's fine," I whisper.

He stands there a second longer. His face unreadable.

Then he nods once and steps out, pulling the door behind him.

I exhale, shaky.

Then press my palms to my face. Not to cry. Just... hide.

Like if I stayed still enough, I could vanish for a while. Just long enough to not feel like this.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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