Coworker Complications Pt. 01

The March drizzle clung to their clothes as Ryan and Megan trudged back from the deli, paper bags crinkling under their arms. Ryan, all five-foot-six and 135 pounds of wiry optimism, clutched his bag like a trophy, his faded blue T-shirt damp at the shoulders. Megan, a petite five-foot, hundred-pound wisp beside him, hugged hers tighter, her oversized hoodie swallowing her perfect frame. Her blonde hair stuck to her cheeks, and she flicked it away with a huff, balancing the bag on her hip.

"Not bad for a Sunday grab," Ryan said, grinning as they neared their six-story walk-up. "Turkey sandwiches--mayo ratio's improving, right?"

Megan giggled, her voice soft but bright. "You're getting there, Ry. Needs more pickles, though." She shifted the bag, brushing crumbs from her sleeve as they crossed the street.

They'd eaten on the go, scarfing down half their sandwiches while weaving through the gray city blocks, a lazy lunch squeezed into a day of avoiding chores. Ryan checked his phone--12:47 p. m.--and sighed. "Hope Tyrone's not staking out the entrance again."

Megan wrinkled her nose, peering ahead. "Ugh, that guy. He was yelling at Mrs. Carter yesterday about her purse. She's, like, eighty."

Ryan shrugged, fishing for his keys. "Yeah, well, he's harmless. Just loud." His cheer sounded thin, but he didn't dwell on it. The alley loomed as they rounded the corner, a grimy chute where Tyrone and his crew camped out. Fifty feet in, tents and cardboard shacks slumped by the dumpster, and there he was--six feet of menace in a tattered coat, his dark eyes locking on them. His stench hit first, sour and unwashed.

"Hey, blondie!" Tyrone hollered, staggering closer, a crooked grin splitting his face. "Show me them tits, slut! Bet they're perky as hell under that baggy shit!"

Megan flinched, her cheeks flaring pink as she clutched the hoodie tighter. "Ignore him," she muttered, speeding up. Ryan's jaw clenched, but he shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes on the pavement. "Yeah, let's just get inside," he mumbled, barely audible over Tyrone's cackling.

The front door loomed, but a sign taped to the glass stopped them: ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER - MAINTENANCE PENDING. Ryan groaned, kicking the base of the doorframe. "You've got to be kidding me. Third time this month."

Megan sighed, shoulders slumping. "Stairs it is. My legs are gonna hate me tomorrow." They pushed inside, the lobby dim and musty, and started the climb. The stairwell echoed with their steps, walls scuffed and tagged, each landing a small win against the building's decay. By the third floor, Megan was huffing, and Ryan's optimism had frayed.

Inside their studio, they dumped the deli bags on the counter and collapsed onto the couch, the faint smell of burnt toast and lemon cleaner lingering in the cramped space. Ryan tilted his head toward her, wiping sweat from his brow. "So, how's work holding up with the lawsuit? I know it's been buzzing around your place."

Megan kicked off her sneakers, tucking her legs under her. "Home Away From Home's fine, mostly. Patients don't care--they're too busy complaining about the food or grabbing at me when I'm changing sheets. A lot of them are in on it, though. Marvin, Bart, John--they're all plaintiffs. Dr. Johnson's been grumpier than usual, but that's it."

Ryan nodded, picking at a thread on his jeans. "Wish I'd gotten on that case. Carson snagged it, of course. He's probably strutting around the office like he owns it already."

She smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "You'll get your shot. Carson's just loud. You're smarter."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, his tone flat. "Work tomorrow's gonna suck either way. You too?"

"Ugh, yes," she groaned, flopping back. "Three twelve-hour shifts this week. Thursday's the night one. I'm already dreading it."

He echoed her groan, the two sinking into shared dread. The room quieted, just the fridge's hum and a distant drip Big Jake still hadn't fixed.

Later, Megan stood, stretching. "I'm gonna shower off the stair sweat. Be right back." She vanished into the bathroom, the door clicking shut. Ryan unpacked the leftover sandwiches, trying not to picture the water running. Minutes passed, and the door creaked open.

She stepped out, a white towel hugging her frame, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. The towel stopped mid-thigh, her legs bare and glistening, and Ryan's eyes snagged, his breath hitching. She bent for her lotion on the coffee table, oblivious at first, then caught his stare lingering.

"Ryan," she said, straightening, her tone playful but sharp, a little tisk tisk tisk clicking off her tongue as she wagged a finger. "You know better than that."

His face burned, and he ducked his head. "Sorry, Megs. Got distracted." The reprimand yanked him back--to a memory that defined every boundary they held.

---

It was a sticky spring evening their junior year, the air thick with pollen and teenage defiance. Ryan and Megan had parked her beat-up Corolla behind the church lot, windows fogged from their breath, the radio humming some forgotten pop song. They'd been at it for twenty minutes--kissing hard, lips wet, hands roaming over clothes with clumsy urgency. Ryan's fingers had slipped under her tank top, grazing the soft skin of her stomach, while Megan's tugged at his shirt collar, pulling him closer. Her shirt rode up in the tussle, the edge of her bra peeking out, a pastel pink strap stark against her flushed skin. Hormones buzzed like static, drowning out the world--until headlights sliced through the dark, and the passenger door yanked open.

Lee and Linda stood there, Megan's parents, faces carved from disappointment and panic. "Out. Now," Lee barked, his Church of Christ baritone cutting through the haze. Ryan scrambled back, heart hammering, as Megan fumbled her shirt down, her cheeks blazing. The drive home was silent, but the next day, the reckoning came.

Both sets of parents convened in the living room--Lee and Linda on one couch, Ken and Mandy on the other, Ryan and Megan perched on folding chairs like defendants. The air smelled of coffee and judgment, the beige carpet worn thin under years of sermons lived out loud. Linda started, her voice tight, hands clasped in her lap.

"So, we all have noticed that things are heating up a bit," she said, eyes flicking between them. "The car, the kissing, whatever else was going on... You're sixteen, and those hormones--they could send you down a dangerous path. You're soulmates, clear as day, but that's not enough to keep people together in today's world, if you let those hormones run rampant then you will ruin everything before you build anything."

Ken nodded, his Mormon sternness softening just enough to sound earnest. "You're at that age--kissing like that, grabbing at each other--it's a slippery slope. One day it's a car, the next it's a bedroom. Life throws enough at you already for you to have to worry about the repercussions of what may come next, not to mention devaluing what's sacred."

"We're not saying you're bad kids," Mandy chimed in, her tone gentler, "but commitment matters. No sex before marriage--I know you both know that, but it doesn't stop there. You can't put yourselves in situations of lust like that, it isn't just sex where sinful temptations enter the mind, it starts in a car with kissing. You have to commit to eachother to avoid the temptation so you don't devalue the most invaluable thing you will experience, which is the night of your wedding, where two souls build a new family's foundation for the generations to come."

Lee leaned forward, his gaze heavy. "Kids nowadays, and sure, even back when Linda and I were young, they try all sorts of dishonorable things to satisfy their desires--they may get it momentarily, but it fades and they are left with emptiness. It is not just sex, it includes anything that takes away from the special beauty of your first night together, even touching, and seeing each other in ways reserved for your husband-wife. Last night, Megan, your shirt was up over your bra--half your chest out for anyone to gawk at. You are saving that too, or you won't have anything to give in the future."

"But what if I've already messed up? I didn't mean to!" Megan said, her eyes widening as her voice tumbled out in a frantic rush.

"What do you mean? What have you done?!" Linda asked, looking worried as she glanced nervously between Ryan and Megan.

"Well, there've been these... accidents--or tricks, really!" Megan said, gesturing wildly as her words spilled out. "Like last spring break, my friend swore there was a bug in my bikini top, and I panicked--ripped it off right there on the beach! A bunch of people saw me topless, and I just stood there, frozen, with everyone staring--boys included! And then--and then--the cheerleaders! They told me our shower was down, so we had to use the boys' shower. They even promised they'd watch the door! But then the whole football team walked in while I was naked! They laughed, and I couldn't leave 'til I rinsed off and dried, 'cause soap on the tiles would've been a hazard!" She started crying, her voice breaking.

"Megan, honey, you don't have to--" Linda said softly, reaching out to stop her daughter's naive and humiliating confession, her tone desperate.

"And this one time, a guy at school said a snake bit his... his penis, and I had to suck out the poison to save his life!" Megan continued, ignoring her mother. "I had to--he said he was going to die! It took forever!"

The room froze, the parents exchanging looks--shock from Ken and Mandy, exasperation from Lee and Linda. Linda pinched the bridge of her nose, a sigh escaping. "Lord help me, Megan, you're too gullible for your own good. Stop--breathe. Ok, so think of it like this, those boys aren't who you're marrying. It doesn't take away from You and Ryan. What matters is you two--your commitment to each other."

Lee softened, fishing a silver promise ring from his pocket. "This is your promise--to Ryan, to us, to God. No sex, no seeing each other like that, no touching--not 'til the wedding night. Keep it pure, and that night, to be the best night of your life, awaits you two in your future. Your mom and I followed the same rules, and now we wouldn't give up our marriage for all the money in the world."

Mandy smiled faintly. "Ours too. Built everything off that."

Ryan shifted, his sixteen-year-old brain still reeling from the car, the bra, the shame. The heartfelt words from the parents stirring a great sense of motivation and commitment within. Megan clutched his hands, nodding fast. "Okay. I promise," she whispered. Ryan echoed her, "Me too. I swear it. I will honor your daughter". Lee slid the promise ring onto her finger, cool and final, sealing the pact--no sex, no nudity, no slipping, not with each other. Only with each other did it matter. The memory of the parents' proud faces faded as Ryan returned to the moment...

----

Megan closed the door behind her with a gentle thud, leaning against it for a moment as a quiet sigh escaped her lips. "He's been so sweet today," she murmured to herself, thinking of the way Ryan had looked at her earlier, his eyes bright with that familiar warmth. She was thankful for it, that little spark of attention that reminded her he still thought of her like that. But she didn't want to come down too hard on him--she'd noticed how the sharper her words got, the more his gaze skip over her entirely.

"I don't make him lose his desire for me before he even gets to use it" she thought aloud, her voice barely a whisper as she crossed the room to her dresser. The thought settled heavy in her chest, cold and nagging. They'd promised each other years of waiting, a commitment to something sacred, and what if she pushed him far enough away that he didn't even want her like that anymore? She pulled a soft sweater from the drawer, holding it against herself as she glanced in the mirror.

"I've got to keep him committed, but also interested" she said, her tone firming with resolve. She wanted him to see her as beautiful, maybe even a touch alluring--just enough to hold his gaze, to keep that spark alive. After admiring her own body, she tugged the sweater on, smoothing it over her frame, and tilted her head to check how it hugged her curves. "I just need him to keep wanting me," she said softly, brushing her hair back with a careful hand. "Not to stumble because of me, but not to forget about the reward of our committment." She nodded at herself, a small determined smile breaking through. "I'll find the balance."

Tomorrow loomed--Melvin Marvin Maxwell & Associates for him, Home Away From Home for her. Another day of playing by the rules.

----

Monday.

The fluorescent hum of Melvin Marvin Maxwell & Associates buzzed overhead as Ryan slumped at his desk, a small but tidy office with a window that framed a sliver of gray NYC skyline. His small frame hunched over a stack of briefs he was supposed to review but all he could do was glance at the picture on his desk. Megan was constantly on his mind, in ways he would never admit. He could not make it long without thinking of her perfect body for once bare for him. The clock on his computer blinked 9:47 a. m., and already the day dragged, Monday's weight pressing down like damp concrete. Next door, Carson's voice boomed through the thin wall, all brash confidence and clipped syllables, dissecting the Home Away From Home lawsuit with some paralegal on speakerphone.

"Yeah, we've got Johnson dead to rights," Carson was saying, his six-foot-two bulk probably leaning back in his chair, feet up like he owned the place. "Medical malpractice out the ass, those old geezers are cash cows. Just need to lock in the depositions and Home Away From Home will be writing us a big check " A laugh, sharp and smug, followed.

Ryan's pen tapped the desk, his mind drifting from the legalese in front of him to Megan. She'd left for her shift at Home Away From Home before dawn, her petite figure slipping out in those pale blue scrubs that hugged her tighter than they used to. He'd caught a glimpse, in secret, that morning, her perfect C-cup breasts and tiny waist outlined as she bent to tie her sneakers. His pulse had quickened, a guilty ache blooming low in his gut. He'd wanted to peel back the fabric, see the side of her that he has only dreamed about for years, but the rules loomed like a brick wall. Instead, he'd turned away, mumbling about coffee.

Her workplace had swapped out her old uniform a few weeks back, claiming the smaller, snugger fit was "patient-preferred." Only a few other nurses, had gotten the same treatment, the only thing in common among them were their looks. The likely motivation behind the change gnawed at Ryan. Creepy as hell, he thought, picturing the leering old men she tended to, their gnarled hands probably itching for a grab. Marvin, Bart, John, all plaintiffs in Carson's case, their names rattled in his head. A sly grin tugged at his lips. Maybe he could pitch it to Carson, add it to the suit: sexual harassment while fostering a hostile environment. He could swoop in, take the reins, outshine that smug bastard for once and save the princess.

The thought fizzled as fast as it came. Carson would laugh him out of the room, and Ryan's optimism wasn't dumb enough to push it. He sighed, flipping a page he hadn't read, the sound drowned by Carson's next barked order next door.

Lunch rolled around at 1:00 p. m., and Ryan shuffled to the break room, a stale sandwich from the deli in hand. The place smelled of burnt coffee and microwave burritos, a fluorescent-lit cave where junior associates traded barbs and pretended they weren't sizing each other up. He spotted Carson, JP, and Cory clustered at a table in the corner, their heads bent over a phone, snickering like frat boys at a kegger. Carson's broad shoulders shook, JP's lean frame hunched beside him, and Cory's 340-pound bulk wheezed with every chuckle, his gut spilling over his belt.

Ryan wandered over, curiosity tugging him despite the knot in his stomach. "What's so funny?" he asked, voice light, trying to sound like one of the guys.

Carson looked up, his gray eyes glinting with something sharp. "Oh, man, check this out," he said, holding up JP's phone. "JP forgot he even had it, almost sent it to a client by mistake. Fucking gold."

Ryan leaned in, and the screen flickered to life. Grainy iPhone footage jolted into focus: a dark alley behind The Lounge, the bar two blocks from the firm. Kendall's platinum blonde hair bobbed as she knelt, her double-D fakes straining her top, and there was Ryan, drunk and swaying, pants around his knees. Her lips worked him over, his four-inch dick disappearing in her mouth, a sloppy, shameful blur from six months back when he and Megan had hit a rough patch. A breakup that lasted no more than three days before they both made peace.

His face went hot, blood rushing to his ears. "Jesus, guys, delete that," he stammered, reaching for the phone. "That's not cool."

JP yanked it back, grinning wide, his teeth flashing against his dark skin. "Chill, man, it's just us. No big deal."

"Yeah, relax," Cory added, his voice greasy, a crumb of something stuck in his patchy beard. "What's a little BJ between friends?"

Carson clapped Ryan on the shoulder, too hard. "Seriously, dude, don't be a buzzkill. Go take your call or whatever." He waved him off, already turning back to the screen.

Ryan's desk phone rang across the room, a shrill lifeline. He bolted for it, heart pounding, the snickers fading behind him. "Melvin Marvin Maxwell, Ryan speaking," he mumbled into the receiver, barely hearing the client drone about a contract dispute. His mind spun. That video, if Megan saw it, even from their break, it'd torch everything. She'd never buy it didn't reflect on him, on them. The rules were ironclad, and he'd already slipped once.

The day crawled after that, a haze of paperwork and dread. By 6:30 p. m., he was out, the five-block walk to the apartment heavy with March chill. He rounded the corner just as Megan reached the entrance, her scrubs clinging from a long shift, her blonde hair loose and frazzled. Tyrone lurked near the alley, his tattered coat flapping as he staggered forward. Before Ryan could blink, Tyrone's hand shot out, smacking Megan's ass with a loud crack. She yelped, spinning around, but Tyrone was already shambling off, muttering something Ryan couldn't hear from fifty feet back.

Anger flared in his chest, hot and useless. Tyrone was twice his size, a slab of muscle and stench, and Ryan's twiggy arms wouldn't do shit. Worse yet, a man like that has nothing to lose. He clenched his fists anyway, then unclenched them, grateful he'd been too far to have to play hero. Megan wouldn't expect it, not really. She'd just call him sweet for trying and let it go.

He jogged up as Tyrone vanished around the corner, the vagrant's cackle echoing off the bricks. "You okay?" he asked, voice tight, eyes darting to her flushed face.

"Yeah, fine," she said, brushing it off, but her shoulders hunched, sheepish. "He's such a creep."

They pushed inside, and there it was again: ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER. Ryan groaned, louder this time. "Big Jake's gonna hear about this." He glanced at the stairwell fire exit as they climbed, its metal door dented inward, a jagged buckle at the base. "That's new. Hope they fix it before Tyrone's crew starts sneaking in."

Megan huffed behind him, her sneakers scuffing the steps. "Yeah, 'cause that's what we need--more weirdos in here."

Upstairs, the apartment greeted them with its usual stale warmth. Ryan dropped his bag, still jittery from the video, the what-ifs clawing at him. Megan kicked off her shoes, plopping onto the couch. "God, today sucked," she said, rubbing her neck. "Kevin's on one again. Always sticks me with the pervy old guys--Marvin, Bart, John. Bath time's the worst. They make me scrub their junk, like, all of it."

Ryan's stomach twisted, but he kept his tone light, fishing takeout menus from a drawer. "What? That's messed up."

"Right?" She sat up, animated now. "I complained to Kevin, said they're gross, but he's all, 'Oh, they can't take care of themselves, Megan, where's your compassion?' Please. They're dexterous enough to cop a feel every time I walk by. Bart grabbed my butt today, and John 'accidentally' brushed my chest. Perfectly capable hands when they want something."

He froze, a Thai menu crinkling in his grip. Those wrinkled bastards touching her, washing "parts"--it stung, sharp and petty. He didn't get that privilege, not with the rules locking him out. "That's bullshit," he said, louder than he meant. "They shouldn't get away with that."

She shrugged, oblivious to his envy. "Kevin doesn't care. Says it's part of the job. Whatever, I'm over it."

They ordered pad thai and fried rice, eating cross-legged on the couch, the TV droning some reality show neither watched. Ryan chewed mechanically, the video looping in his head, Megan's scrubs story gnawing beside it. She yawned mid-bite, wiping soy sauce from her chin. "I'm beat. Night shift Thursday's gonna kill me."

"Same," he muttered, though his day was paper cuts compared to hers. They cleared the takeout boxes, and she stood, stretching. "Night, Ry," she said, pecking his lips, a quick, chaste brush. "Night, Megs," he echoed, watching her shuffle to her bedroom.

He trudged to his own, the tiny office with its twin bed, and flopped down. The ceiling stared back, stained and silent. The video, Tyrone, those old men--all of it churned, a sour mix of fear and frustration. Tomorrow would be worse. It always was.

----

Tuesday.

Ryan sat at his desk, the faint buzz of the overhead lights blending with the muffled clatter of keyboards down the hall at Melvin Marvin Maxwell & Associates. It was midmorning, the clock ticking past 10:15 a. m., and he was halfway through a deposition transcript that refused to hold his attention. His small office felt smaller today, the window's gray view pressing in. Next door, Carson's door creaked open, and hushed voices slipped through the wall, low and conspiratorial. JP's baritone rumbled, followed by Cory's wheezy chuckle, too quiet to catch words but sharp enough to prick Ryan's nerves.

His stomach tightened. Was it the video? That shaky iPhone clip of Kendall's lips on him, a drunken mistake from months ago that could nuke his life with Megan. He chewed the inside of his cheek, replaying yesterday's break room snickers. They'd been so casual about it, like it was just another office prank, but this hushed tone felt different. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe they were scheming about a case, some client Carson was screwing over for points. Still, the video gnawed at him. He needed it gone, deleted, but begging JP risked tipping his hand. In this office, where every junior associate was a shark circling for one of the ten partner slots, weakness was blood in the water. Carson, especially, would smell leverage a mile away, and Ryan couldn't afford that.

He tapped his pen against the desk, a staccato rhythm to steady his thoughts. Confronting JP directly was out; too desperate. Maybe he could play it cool, drop a hint later, frame it as a favor. The day dragged on, a slog of emails and revisions, the whispers next door fading into the usual office din. By 5:30 p. m., he was packing up, shoving files into his bag, when Carson poked his head in, all easy grin and broad shoulders.

"Hey, man, drinks at The Lounge tonight," Carson said, voice light, like they were buddies. "You in? Usual crew."

Ryan hesitated, searching for a catch, but there was no mention of the video, no edge to the invite. Just the after-hours schmoozing the firm encouraged, a chance to play nice and climb the ladder. "Yeah, sure," he said, forcing a smile. "Could use a beer."

"Sweet. See you there." Carson clapped the doorframe and vanished, leaving Ryan to exhale a breath he hadn't realized he'd held. Amicable, he told himself. Nothing more.

He pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen before typing a quick text to Megan: Having a drink with the guys after work. Won't be late. Her reply buzzed back almost instantly: Have fun! You know it's good to hang with them. See you later xo. She got it, the unspoken rule that social points mattered if he wanted to outlast the other forty-nine juniors. He pocketed the phone, grabbed his coat, and headed out.

The Lounge was two blocks from the firm, a dim cave of dark wood and flickering neon, the air thick with stale beer and cologne. Ryan pushed through the door at 6:15 p. m., spotting Carson, JP, and Cory already settled in a booth near the back, not their usual bar stools. Odd, but he brushed it off, weaving through the crowd of young professionals unwinding over cheap drafts. The booth's cracked vinyl squeaked as he slid in beside JP, who nodded with a lazy grin.

"Beer's on its way," Carson said, leaning back, arms spread across the booth's edge like he owned it. "Tough day, huh?"

"Yeah, same old," Ryan replied, keeping it vague, scanning their faces for hints. Cory smirked into his glass, JP scrolled his phone, and Carson just watched him, gray eyes steady. The waitress dropped off a round of lagers, and Ryan took a sip, the cold fizz a small anchor against the unease creeping up his spine.

They small-talked for ten minutes, bullshitting about a client's dumbass deposition, the Knicks' latest loss, nothing heavy. Then Carson set his beer down, the clink sharp against the table, and leaned in, voice dropping low but casual, like he was sharing a bar story.

"So, here's the thing," he started, locking eyes with Ryan. "Knowing what I know about you and Megan, that cute little promise ring, how you've been together forever and you still haven't even seen a tit, I figure this video's a fucking nuke for you. One text to her, and boom, she's gone, right?"

Ryan's throat went dry, the beer turning sour in his mouth. He opened his lips to protest, but Carson waved him off, smirking. "Don't play dumb. I also know if you had dirt like this on me, you'd use it in a heartbeat. Like when you ratted me out to Ken about that DUI last year, thinking it'd get you ahead. Didn't work, but I didn't forget. You're a sneaky little shit when you wanna be."

"That was just..." Ryan trailed off, heat creeping up his neck. He'd hoped snitching on Carson's arrest would tip the scales, but the partners shrugged it off, and Carson heard anyway. No point denying it now.

"Save it," Carson said, grin widening. "Point is, I'm already kicking your ass at work. Don't need to fuck with you there. But payback's a bitch, and I've got other ways. Since you're not getting any from Megan, I'll step in. And you're gonna let me."

Ryan blinked, the words landing like a punch he didn't see coming. "What? How the hell..."

"Easy," Carson cut in, leaning closer, voice smooth and oily. "You're gonna tell her you're into it. Say you like her getting flirty, handsy with other guys. Turns you on, you know, like a cuck. Office throws that word around enough; you get the gist. Tell her you two stay pure, all virginal and shit, but it's no harm, no foul if she flashes a tit or two to some lucky bastards. Long as you don't see it, right? It doesn't have to make sense, I've met her, she dumb as a box of rocks."

Ryan's mind reeled, a mix of panic and disbelief. "There's no way she'd buy that. She'd freak out, think I'm nuts."

Carson chuckled, sipping his beer. "Nah, she's gullible as hell. You've said it yourself, how she falls for anything. Figure it out, or, well, you're fucked."

The memory hit Ryan like a brick, junior year flashing up: Megan's frantic confessions, her mom's calm dismissal. Those boys aren't who you're marrying. It doesn't count against you and Ryan. His stomach sank. She might actually buy it, if he sold it right, framed it as his kink, not theirs. His job hung by a thread, partner dreams fading if Carson pushed this higher, and Megan... one glimpse of that video, even from their break, would shatter everything. He was cornered, pinned by creeps he'd rather see rot than touch her.

"I don't want you anywhere near her," he muttered, voice low, fists balling under the table.

"Too bad," Carson said, shrugging. "You don't call the shots here. Look, I'll make it simple. Saturday, I'll swing by your place. We'll have a drink, I don't know, play some cards, or some shit. Tell her to dress sexy, show off that tight little body she's got. Fuck, man, her ass looks like it's begging to be grabbed. Been dying to see what's under there, and you're gonna make it happen. Or she gets this." He held up his phone, the video paused on Kendall's puffy lips on Ryan's small, half-erect cock.

JP snorted, leaning in. "Come on, dude, it's not that deep. She's hot, you're whipped. Let us have some fun. I bet you will enjoy it too, hell she might learn a thing or two"

"Yeah," Cory added, wiping sweat from his brow, eyes glinting. "Bet her tits are perfect. You're hogging her all to yourself, and for what? You don't even get a peek."

Ryan's jaw clenched, their words slithering over him like grease. "You're sick," he said, barely above a whisper.

"Maybe," Carson replied, unfazed. "But you're stuck. Saturday, my place or yours, doesn't matter. Just set it up. Tell her it's a night out after, partying, whatever gets her there. She'll eat it up if you play it right. We're not asking, dude. We're telling."

The booth went quiet, the bar's hum swallowing the moment. Ryan stared at his beer, the foam flat, his reflection a blur in the glass. No outs, no moves. He nodded once, stiff and small, hating every second. "Fine. Saturday. My Place"

Carson clapped his shoulder, too hard again. "Good man. Knew you'd see it my way." They shifted gears, joking about some bar fight from last week, but Ryan barely heard. He finished his beer, the taste bitter, and slipped out at 7:30 p. m., mumbling about an early morning.

The walk home was a fog, five blocks of cold air and racing thoughts. He hit the apartment building, the stairwell's dented fire exit glaring at him as he climbed. Inside, Megan was bustling around, a broom in hand, the place tidier than when he'd left. No shift today, just her keeping their cramped world in order. She looked up, smiling, oblivious.

"Hey, you're back," she said, setting the broom aside. "How was drinks?"

"Fine," he lied, voice flat, dropping his bag. "Just the guys. You?"

"Boring," she said, shrugging. "Cleaned up, watched some TV. Tyrone or one of the other creeps pissed on the door again, but the doorman chased him off."

He nodded, the video and Carson's plan choking any reply. They ate leftover takeout in silence, her chatter about a new patient fading into static. Bedtime came fast. "Night, Ry," she said, pecking his lips, soft and quick. "Night, Megs," he echoed, watching her disappear into her room. He collapsed in his own, the twin bed creaking, the ceiling a blank slate for his dread. Saturday loomed, a trap he couldn't unmake.

----

A few days later, Friday.

The fluorescent lights of Home Away From Home buzzed faintly over the tiled bathroom, shining through the thousands of dead moths cluttered on the translucent plastic of the dated fixture, casting a sterile glow on Megan as she knelt by the tub at 8:15 a. m. Her third twelve-hour shift of the week--a Thursday night stretch--had her running on fumes, her blonde hair limp in a messy bun, her tight scrubs clinging to her petite frame from sweat and exhaustion, none of which taking away from her beauty. Marvin, her 72-year-old patient, sat in the shallow water, his 315-pound bulk sloshing as he shifted, his dark skin slick with suds. She dipped a sponge into the soapy mix, scrubbing his thick arm with practiced efficiency, her mind already on clocking out at 9:00 a. m. and crashing in her bed.

"Hold still, Marvin," she said, her soft voice carrying a hint of strain. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."

He grunted, his low-hanging balls bobbing beneath the soapy surface as he twitched abruptly, sending a splash across her chest. Water soaked the front of her scrub top, darkening the fabric over her left breast. "Sorry, darlin'," he rasped, his voice gravelly but laced with a sly edge. "Get shaky sometimes, y'know? Old ticker ain't what it used to be."

Megan sighed, brushing damp strands from her face with the back of her wrist. "Yeah, well, try not to splash me again. I've got to walk home after this, and I don't want to look like I fell in a puddle." She leaned forward, sponge in hand, aiming for his shoulder, when another jerk of his arm sent a bigger wave crashing over her. The wet patch spread, cold and clingy, outlining her bra beneath the thin material.

"See? Can't help it," Marvin said, his eyes glinting as he watched her fuss with the soaked fabric. "Smart thing'd be to take that top off, save it gettin' all ruined. Other nurses did it when I got splashy like this."

She froze, sponge dripping in her hand, her gullible mind churning. "Really?" she asked, frowning slightly. "They just... took their shirts off?"

"Yep," he lied smoothly, nodding with a sincerity she didn't question. "Common sense, right? You don't wanna trudge home all wet. Ain't nobody here but me, and I ain't gonna tell, hell, I can hardly see!"

Megan chewed her lip, glancing at the door, then down at her scrub top, now sticking uncomfortably to her skin. It did make sense, sort of. She hated the idea of walking ten blocks with a sopping shirt, and Marvin seemed harmless enough, just an old guy with shaky hands. "Okay, fine," she muttered, setting the sponge on the tub's edge. She tugged the scrub top over her head, revealing a simple white bra that cupped her perfect C-cups, her nipples faintly visible through the damp fabric. She folded the shirt and set it on a dry stool, out of splash range.

Marvin's breath hitched, his gaze locking on her chest, a slow grin creeping across his face. "There ya go, smart girl," he said, his tone a shade too eager. She didn't notice, too focused on keeping professional, but his excitement stirred below the water, his nine-inch cock twitching to life.

"Alright, let's finish up," she said, grabbing the sponge again. "Where next?"

"You haven't got this side yet," he replied, pointing to his flank on the far side of the tub with a shaky finger. "Gotta get in there good."

She nodded, shifting to her knees and leaning across him, her slim frame stretching over the tub's width. Her breasts hovered inches above the water, the bra straining slightly as she reached. Marvin's left arm moved slyly behind her, thick fingers finding the clasp with a dexterity his "shakiness" didn't explain. A quick flick, and the bra snapped open, straps sliding down her shoulders. The cups fell forward, plopping into the suds with a soft splash, and her bare tits spilled free, pink nipples hardening in the cool air.

Megan yelped, jerking back, her hands flying to cover herself. "What the heck!?" Her voice cracked, panic flaring as she clutched her chest, cheeks flaming red.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," he said, raising his hands like he was innocent, though his grin widened. "Must've caught on somethin'. It's gone under now, see?" He shifted, pinning the bra beneath his left arm, the white fabric long vanished beneath the veil of the bubbles. "No big deal."

"I need that back!" she squeaked, still covering herself, her eyes darting to the murky water. "I can't just... have my boobs out like this! Where is it? I can't see anything, I'll drain the tub, hold on."

"That's ridiculous," Marvin cut in, his tone firm but coaxing. "Only thing left is my junk, then we're done. Makes sense to finish first, then drain it. You're almost there, girl."

She hesitated, arms crossed tight, her naïve logic wrestling with his words. He had a point, didn't he, she needed to get out of there and draining then filling up the tub again would add 15 minutes that she does not have. Just finish the bath, then get the bra. It'd be quick. "Okay, fine," she said, voice small, dropping her hands reluctantly. Her perfect tits jiggled slightly as she grabbed the sponge, exposing them fully to his hungry stare. "Let's make it fast."

Marvin leaned back, his erection breaking the surface now, thick and veiny, a solid nine inches pulsing against his sagging belly. "Sponge is rough on me down there," he said, wincing dramatically as she started. "Use your hands, darlin'. Gentler that way."

Megan paused, soap dripping from the sponge, her brow furrowing. "My hands? I don't know..."

"C'mon, it's fine," he pressed, his voice softening like he was doing her a favor. "Can't have me hurtin', right? You're a nurse, you get it."

She bit her lip, then nodded slowly, setting the sponge aside. "Alright, I guess." She squirted soap into her palms, rubbing them together, and reached for his cock, her small hands wrapping around its girth. It was hot and slick, throbbing under her touch, and Marvin groaned low, pointing it upright, off his stomach with a meaty hand.

"Get it good," he said, holding it upright, the head swollen and purple. "Been a while, y'know? Real dirty down there."

Megan swallowed, her fingers sliding along the shaft, suds coating it as she scrubbed. She focused on the task, telling herself it was just part of the job, her gullibility smoothing over the weirdness. Marvin's breathing quickened, his hips twitching, and then, with a guttural grunt, he erupted. Thick ropes of cum shot from the tip, splattering across her bare chest, warm and sticky against her tits.

She froze, wide-eyed, a gasp catching in her throat. Instinct screamed to pull away, but Kevin's voice echoed in her head from past complaints: It's part of the job, Megan. They're helpless. She stayed put, cum dripping down her sternum, convincing herself it wasn't worth a fuss. The bathroom door swung open mid-thought, and Kevin stepped in, his 300-pound frame filling the space, his bearded face twisting in surprise, then delight, as he clocked her topless state.

"Well, damn," Kevin said, his rough voice tinged with amusement, eyes lingering on her cum-streaked breasts. "What's going on here?"

Marvin not wanting to lose his favorite nurse, jumped in, smooth as oil. "Tardive dyskinesia actin' up again, boss. Shaky as hell, splashed her good. She took the shirt off so it wouldn't get soaked, then her bra popped off somehow. Freaky accident, y'know?"

Megan nodded fast, arms hovering but not covering, her naive trust in Marvin's excuse kicking in. "Yeah, it was an accident. I didn't want to walk home all wet, and then... yeah."

Kevin's gaze roamed her chest a beat too long, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Great dedication, Megan. Finally getting it. Taking care of these guys like a pro, even when shit gets messy. Proud of you."

Her cheeks flushed, but a tiny swell of pride bloomed in her chest. "Thanks, Kevin," she said, almost shyly, the praise landing despite the absurdity. It drowned out the cum still clinging to her skin, forgotten in the moment. She glanced at her watch--8:55 a. m.--and jolted. "Oh crap, I've got to punch out!"

Marvin fished her bra from the remaining water after Megan drained the tub and helped him up. "Here ya go, darlin'." She snatched it, fumbling to snap it on, the wet fabric chafing as she dried it with a towel corner. Her scrub top went back on, the water stain blooming darker now, and she ushered Marvin to his room, his wheelchair creaking under his weight.

Outside, the morning air hit her as she stepped onto the sidewalk, ten blocks from home. Tyrone loomed near the apartment entrance, his tattered coat flapping, his stench wafting as he closed the gap before she could dodge. "Hey, blondie," he growled, tenting his filthy pants, "butt squeeze or butt slap. Pick one."

Megan groaned, too tired to argue, his hand already hovering. She thought of the sharp pain from the last butt slap. "Squeeze," she muttered, wincing as his grimy fingers dug into her ass, kneading hard. "Fuckin' sweet cheeks," he rasped, humping the air. She yanked away, bolting inside, the stairs her last hurdle to safety.

---

The clock at Melvin Marvin Maxwell & Associates ticked toward 5:45 p. m., Friday's end a faint light at the tunnel's end for Ryan. His small office smelled of stale coffee and paper dust, the deposition files he'd slogged through all day stacked haphazardly on his desk. The week had been a slow bleed of dread since Tuesday's booth at The Lounge, Carson's voice still echoing in his skull: Tell her it turns you on. He rubbed his temples, the video of Kendall's blowjob a guillotine over his neck, his job and Megan dangling by a thread. Saturday loomed, less than twenty-four hours away, and he still hadn't figured out how to sell this nightmare without choking on it.

Footsteps thudded outside his door, and Carson swaggered in, a plastic shopping bag swinging from his meaty hand. His grin was all teeth, smug and easy, like he hadn't spent the week twisting Ryan's life into knots. "Yo, man, got you something," he said, tossing the bag onto the desk with a soft thud. "Figured I'd do you a solid, make you look like a good fiancé. Bought an outfit for Megan, your treat. Sell it as yours, she'll eat it up."

Ryan stared at the bag, its contents hidden behind crinkled plastic, his stomach lurching. "What's in it?" he asked, voice tight, reaching for the edge.

Carson's hand shot out, swatting his away. "Nope, no peeking. Trust me, it's sexy as hell. She'll look bangin'. Swear you won't look 'til she's got it on, alright? I did the work, you take the credit."

"Fine," Ryan muttered, fingers retreating, his naive trust buckling under Carson's insistence. "I won't look."

"Good," Carson said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "And tonight, you go over the details with her for tomorrow. I'm at your place, 7:00 p. m. sharp. Drinks, games, the works. Get her on board, or you know what's up." He tapped his phone pocket, the unspoken threat of the video glinting in his eyes, then sauntered off, whistling like it was nothing.

Ryan sat there, bag taunting him, the weight of it all sinking deeper. He grabbed his coat, stuffed the bag into his backpack, and bolted, the five-block walk home a blur of March chill and racing thoughts. The apartment building loomed, its dented fire exit still unrepaired, Tyrone mercifully absent from the entrance. He climbed the stairs, legs heavy, and pushed inside at 6:30 p. m., the faint smell of lemon cleaner greeting him.

Megan was sprawled on the couch, fresh from a nap after her night shift, her damp scrubs swapped for a loose T-shirt and leggings. Her blonde hair spilled free, still wet from a shower, and she looked up with a tired smile. "Hey, you're home," she said, stretching, her voice soft but brighter than he'd expected. "Long day?"

"Yeah, you?" he replied, dropping his bag by the door, the plastic crinkle inside it a quiet menace. He forced a grin, shoving Carson's plan to the back of his mind. "So what's with the text about you getting recognized at work, huh? That's big."

Her face lit up, a spark cutting through her fatigue. "Oh my gosh, yes! Finally! Kevin actually said I'm getting it, like, really stepping up. I'm so happy about it."

"That's great babe, I know you have been working hard for that," he said, flopping beside her, curiosity nudging out his dread for a sec. "What happened?"

She tucked her legs under her, animated now, oblivious to the storm brewing in his head. "Okay, so I was giving Marvin his morning bath, right? He's super splashy 'cause of this shaky thing he's got--tardive something, I don't know. Anyway, he kept splashing me, like, big waves, and my scrub top got soaked over my chest. I didn't want to walk home all wet, and he said it's smart to just take it off, that other nurses did it when he got like that. Made sense, you know? Save the shirt, finish the job."

Ryan's brow creased, a flicker of unease stirring. "You took your top off? In front of him?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding like it was obvious. "It was just us, and he's old and shaky, so I figured it's fine. But then it got weirder. I had to lean over to get his arm, and somehow my bra popped off--think it caught on the tub or something. Fell right into the water, and just disappeared under the suds."

"What?" Ryan's voice pitched up, shock slipping through his mask. "Your bra came off?"

"I know, right?" she said, giggling nervously, her gullibility glazing over the absurdity. "I freaked out at first, like, 'I can't have my boobs out!' But, I didn't have long and Marvin said it was silly to drain the tub just for that, 'cause we only had his lower area to clean. Logical, I guess. The tub takes forever to drain, and even longer to refil. So I kept going, and he was to sensitive for the sponge down there, and I had to soap him up with my hands."

Ryan's jaw tightened, a sour mix of envy and disbelief churning as he imagined his perfect Megan's hands on some old sagging fat man's junk. "You... used your hands?"

She nodded, earnest as ever. "Yeah, it's not the first time, many of the other patients complain about the sponge when I get down there, and I'm supposed to help, not hurt, right? So I soaped up my hands, and he was, um, erect--huge, too, like, sticking straight up. He held it for me, said it's been dirty a while, and I scrubbed it good. Then, out of nowhere, he... well, just, came... everywhere. Shot right on my chest. But don't worry because what happened next was a blessing."

"Jesus, Megan," Ryan breathed, his mind reeling, picturing it too clearly--her perfect tits, Marvin's cum. "And Kevin comes in where?"

"Ya, next," she said, perking up. "Walked in right as it happened. Looked shocked for a sec, but Marvin explained it--the splashing, my shirt, the bra popping off, all 'cause of his shakes. Kevin just stared a bit, then said, 'Great dedication, Megan, you're finally getting it.' Like, he was proud! I think he really meant it, too. It's innocent, you know? Just doing my job, helping these poor guys."

Ryan swallowed hard, her naive pride clashing with the image of two men ogling her, touching what he couldn't. "You think that's... innocent?" he asked, skepticism creeping in, though his own gullibility kept it soft.

"Totally," she said, eyes wide. "Marvin can't control it, and Kevin saw I wasn't slacking. Worth it for the props, though."

He nodded slowly, jealousy gnawing at him. These creeps got her topless, got off on her, and he was stuck on the sidelines. But then Tuesday's booth flashed up--Carson's threat, the video, his forced play. He bit his tongue, the words that's too far dying in his throat. The big concern of his coming back to the forefront of his mind, how would he sell Carson and tomorrow night? He had to pivot off of this situation, and sell this kink bullshit, or lose everything. "Wow," he said, forcing a shaky laugh. "That's, uh, kinda sexy, you know? Your dedication, even though those old guys got to see your tits. I mean, I'd love to see them, but I'd love more to wait 'til our wedding day, make it special."

Megan tilted her head, curious. "Sexy? Really?" Thinking of all the times she felt she pushed Ryan far enough away to where thoughts like that stopped popping up in his head.

"Yeah," he pushed, heart racing, leaning into the lie. "Since you're getting noticed by Kevin, and you're not marrying these guys--like your mom said, right?--I think I'd like to hear more about it. What do you think?"

Her face brightened, his logic clicking into her trusting mind. "Oh, stuff like this happens a lot, actually. The pervy ones--Marvin, Bart, John--they're always grabbing my butt or whatever. I used to complain, but my reviews tank if I do. Patients love it when I let it slide, and my pay bumps up with good reviews. If you think it is sexy, then I guess I see it in a different way now. I could really climb at work."

"Exactly," he said, seizing it, his voice steadier now just going with the thoughts as they popped into his head even knowing it will end in serious regret. "End of the day, I want our wedding night to be the best. If cocks aren't a surprise to you by then, we could have way more fun. And since it's not my cock, it doesn't take anything from us, right? Everything between us will still be special, maybe even more so."

She nodded, chewing her lip, buying every word. "Wow, baby I love you so much, I thought you might get a little upset about the cum part, I really had no idea that that could happen"

Ryan's flow temporarily shaken by her last comment. "I've been thinking about it a lot," he pressed, the bag in his backpack looming in his mind. "Your tight scrubs, how people look at you--I like seeing it in their eyes, because I know its not right when you see it in mine, its a vicarious experience. I'd love to show you off to my friends, let them get some of that treatment, like the old folks. It would mean a lot to me. How about I invite them over tomorrow for drinks? I even got you a sexy dress for it if you were down." He pointed to his bag, forcing a grin.

Megan smiled, a mix of flattery and thrill as her concerns of Ryan's interest melt away. "That sounds awesome! Well, don't get me wrong, their attention's gross most of the time, but seeing it in this way makes it a lot better. So, tomorrow night with your friends? Sounds fun--let's do it."

Relief and guilt tangled in his chest. "Awesome," he said, voice hollow. They cleaned up, pecked goodnight, and split to their rooms. In his tiny office bed, he lay awake, the bathtub scene replaying--her hands, Marvin's cum. His hand slipped under the sheets, stroking himself to the twisted mix of envy and arousal, finishing fast and hating himself more.

----

Saturday.

The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the city in a dull gold as Ryan and Megan ambled back from the corner store, plastic grocery bags rustling in their hands. A brisk March breeze tugged at Megan's skirt, a light blue piece that skimmed her thighs, flapping gently around her slim legs with each step. Ryan gripped his bag of canned goods, the weight a flimsy shield against the dread coiling in his chest. Carson's 7:00 p. m. arrival was hours away, and the lie he'd fed Megan last night--I like showing you off--gnawed at him, a bitter pill he couldn't spit out.

Megan walked beside him, quiet at first, her blonde hair loose and swaying as she shifted her bag of veggies to her other hip. Then she glanced at him, her voice flat, tinged with resignation. "Guess it's good you're into guys looking at me and getting handsy. If we see Tyrone, he'll probably try something again, like that squeeze yesterday. Just my luck, right?"

Ryan's gut clenched, the memory of Tyrone's filthy hand on her ass from Friday morning flashing up like a bad dream. He forced a thin smile, eyes on the cracked pavement. "Yeah, he's... persistent," he muttered, hating how she'd twisted it into his supposed kink, a trap he couldn't escape with Carson's video dangling over him.

Their apartment building loomed ahead, its weathered brick a familiar eyesore. They were thirty feet from the door when Tyrone lurched out from the alley, his tattered coat billowing, his sour stench hitting them before his voice did. Megan stiffened, her skirt fluttering as she slowed, her lips pressing into a tight line. Tyrone's dark eyes zeroed in on her, bolder after yesterday, a crooked grin splitting his grizzled face as he blocked their path.

"Well, look who's back," he slurred, his tone thick with booze and menace, standing square in front of Ryan like he wasn't even there. "Slap or squeeze, blondie? What's it gonna be today?"

Megan shot Ryan a sidelong glance, her expression sour but searching, testing his reaction. She thought he liked this, thanks to his coerced nod last night, and he couldn't let the mask slip. His stomach churned, disgust bubbling up, but he jerked his head in a stiff nod, lips twitching into a grimace he prayed looked convincing. "Up to you," he said, voice barely scraping out.

She sighed, turning her back to Tyrone, her shoulders slumping. "Squeeze, I guess," she said, flat and resigned, like she was picking the lesser evil. Tyrone licked his lips, stepping closer, his tented pants brushing the edge of her skirt. "With that skirt," he rasped, "best way's to reach under. Gotta do it right, y'know?"

Megan didn't reply, didn't fight it, her naive trust in Ryan's fake desire overriding her revulsion. She stood still, jaw tight, as Tyrone's grimy hand slid beneath the hem, his thick fingers clamping onto her ass, kneading through her panties for a slow, deliberate five seconds. She sucked in a sharp breath as his hand darted forward, brushing her pussy quick and rough, and yanked back with a jolt, her skirt flaring as she stumbled.

"Let's go, Ryan," she snapped, grabbing his arm, her voice sharp with irritation as she tugged him past Tyrone toward the door. The homeless man chuckled, adjusting himself. "Sexy little thing like you oughta wear thongs," he called after them. "Show it off proper."

Ryan's fists balled, but he kept moving, Megan's grip hauling him inside. The lobby's stale air swallowed them as they hit the stairs, the busted elevator sign a mute taunt. They climbed in silence, her steps heavy, until halfway up Ryan glanced at her tense face. "Why'd you jump back there?" he asked, trying to sound casual, not livid.

She huffed, pausing on a landing, her eyes narrowing at him. "He reached my pussy and rubbed it, totally out of nowhere. Caught me off guard, so I jumped. God, Ryan, he's a disgusting homeless man. Who knows where those hands have been? Probably jerked off right before touching me, and he almost got under my panties." Her tone was bitter, but then it shifted, a pointed edge creeping in. "Even that makes you happy?"

Ryan's throat closed, the image of Tyrone's filth on her searing his brain. He wanted to scream no, to drag her away from all of it, but Carson's shadow loomed larger. "Yeah," he choked out, forcing a nod, the lie tasting like dirt. "Kinda does. It makes you sexier to me, you know, in like a way that doesn't leave me tempted on my own"

She stared at him, then smirked faintly, a see what I'm doing for you glint in her eyes. "Well, good, I guess. Look at me, putting up with that creep for you." Her voice dripped with reluctant sacrifice. She hid the glee that her confidence is exploding from her new found acknowledgement of her long forgotten sex appeal. They pushed into the apartment, dropping the bags on the counter, the clock at 4:40 p. m. ticking down to Carson's arrival.

Megan busied herself unpacking, then straightened, brushing her hands on her skirt. "Alright, I'm gonna get ready. Your friends are coming, so I'll make it worth it." She disappeared into her room, leaving Ryan on the couch, the plastic bag from Carson still lurking in his backpack. He sank into the cushions, Tyrone's grope replaying alongside Marvin's bathtub stunt, a sour mix of envy and shame churning in his gut. She wasn't thrilled about the homeless creep, just enduring it for him, and that made it worse somehow.

By 6:20 p. m., the bathroom door swung open, and Megan emerged, wrapped in a white towel, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders. She padded into the living room, lotion in hand, and stopped in front of him, frowning slightly. "You sure you want me to look this sexy?" she asked, her tone wary, not teasing. "It's kinda out there, you know? I figured you picked it, so you've got the vibe in mind... And this isn't for you right, its for them? Remember we gotta keep to the rules."

Ryan's pulse quickened, the bag's unseen contents a ghost in his peripheral. He hadn't peeked--Carson's orders--but he had to sell it, assume it'd please the bastards. "Yeah, no, its for them. I, uh, saw Carson looking at this dress in a window," he said, forcing a grin, his mouth dry as sand. "It's gonna look great. You'll look amazing... uh, for them"

She shrugged, unconvinced but compliant. "Okay, if you say so. The G-string's a bit much, and no bra feels weird, but it's your call." She turned, hips swaying as she headed back to her room, the door clicking shut. Ryan's breath hitched, G-string and no bra punching through his fragile facade. Carson's outfit was sluttier than he'd hoped, it better not be a hooker's getup.

At 6:50 p. m., her door opened again, and Megan stepped out, a vision that froze him mid-thought. The two-piece cocktail dress was black and bold, screaming girl looking to get laid, not but fortunately not all the way to streetwalker level. The skirt was short, hitting mid-thigh, tight enough that if she bent over, her panty-covered parts would peek out, a tease without baring all. The top was almost a bikini top, just with fancier material, cupping her C-cups snugly, the thin material clinging to her chest. The lack of a bra had the texture of her nipples presenting through to the surface of the outward material, their shape, a not-so-quiet promise of what lay beneath. She spun once, the skirt flaring slightly, but not enough to reveal the prize beneath. She looked at his frozen half-smile, gauging his reaction.

"So, how's this?" she asked, hands on hips, her posture stiff, not playful. "Sexy enough for your friends?"

Ryan stared, caught between awe and horror, his dick stirring despite the panic clawing his chest. She was stunning, every curve a lure he couldn't touch, now bait for Carson, JP, and Cory. "I, I mean no disrespect, but yes, you look so sexy," he said, voice rough but dripping with truth, slipping out before he could mask it. "Perfect, Megs."

"Alright," she said, smoothing the skirt, her tone flat but resigned. "If it's what you want, I'll roll with it. Makes me feel wanted, I guess, even if it's weird. It's hard to feel that way, when you are where we are, y'know?" A rhetorical question. She crossed to the mirror, adjusting her hair, the skirt riding up as she leaned forward, exposing a sliver of thigh. Ryan watched, mute, her reluctant effort for him a knife twist deeper than her work stories.

The clock hit 6:58 p. m., and he sank into the couch, hands clenched, the doorbell's buzz two minutes away. She turned back, forcing a small smile. "Ready for your show-off night," she said, and he nodded, throat tight, the trap snapping shut around them both.