Carly
Rule #1 of loving your best friend in secret?
Eliminate the competition.
Subtly, of course. Strategically. Cleanly.
…Okay, maybe heel-ing a tire isn't subtle. But in my defense, she called him "Chazzy Wazzy."
She deserved the slow leak.
Charlie Trentford doesn't get it. He never has. He thinks I'm just his sarcastic little bestie with a mechanical engineering degree and a hoodie addiction. He doesn't see the way I look at him when he stretches in the morning, all shirtless and smug, like a damn cologne commercial.
But I see everything.
I see the way girls at the office lean over his desk like they're presenting their resumes and their tits at the same time. I see the way his Tinder notifications pop up when he's in meetings.
And now that I'm living here?
I see the way his sheets smell like her perfume.
Correction: smelled.
Because I may or may not have set them on fire.
"They were stained," I said innocently this morning, while he stared at the blackened remains of his $400 Egyptian cotton set. "I tried washing them. They combusted."
He didn't question it. He just rubbed his temples and muttered something about needing therapy.
Good. He'll need it when I'm done with him.
I want him unhinged. Off balance. Desperate.
I want him to wake up sweating, dreaming of my thighs and my hoodie and the fact that I moan his name in my sleep. (He doesn't know that. Yet.)
And tonight?
Tonight, it begins.
I walk into the living room in his shirt. Just his shirt.
Charlie nearly drops his phone. "Uh…"
"Laundry's in the dryer." I plop down next to him on the couch, cross-legged and bare-thighed. "You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
More like a horny demon in disguise. But sure, let's pretend I'm innocent.
"You could've worn pants," he mutters, eyes flicking downward for the third time.
"You could've not matched with a girl who says 'teehee' in real life." I snatch the remote. "Let's watch horror movies."
He stares at me. "You hate horror."
"I like seeing you scream."
Charlie: "I don't scream."
"You squeal. Like a sexy little piglet."
He groans. "Carly—"
I lean in close. Way too close. My lips are almost brushing his ear.
"Don't worry, Charlie," I whisper. "I'll protect you."
He just sighs.
Who cares, he's mine.