Morning crept softly through the sheer curtains of the guest room. Light spread across the sheets and reached Angie's eyelids, which fluttered open slowly. She stretched, then lay still, listening to the quiet of the house.
But inside her, the quiet had not returned.
She closed her eyes again. Why is this image haunting me like this?
Grégory's half-naked form in the living room, dimly lit by the fridge light, played over and over in her mind. His sculpted chest, relaxed muscles, the snug black boxer briefs, his slim waist—and above all, that surprised glance they had exchanged for just a few seconds.
That image wouldn't go away. Worse: it insisted. Since she'd gone back to bed last night, it had looped in her mind. Despite herself. And despite Jessica.
Jessica… her best friend. And Grégory's wife.
That was the most disturbing part. She felt guilty. Nothing had happened. No inappropriate words, no gestures, not even a suggestive glance. And yet, she had felt something. Something she wished she hadn't. A hot flicker of awareness. A physical response to this man she'd known for years… but never like this.
She sighed, sat up slowly, slipped on an oversized sweater over her pajamas, and stepped out of the room.
In the kitchen, Jessica—wrapped in a robe—was preparing coffee.
"Sleep well?" she asked cheerfully, her voice light and fresh.
Angie forced a smile, but it lacked warmth.
"I had a little trouble falling asleep…"
Jessica turned, amused.
"You got up in the night, didn't you? I heard the fridge door."
Angie let out a short laugh.
"Yeah, I was thirsty… and I ran into Grégory in the living room. It surprised me a little."
Jessica laughed, pouring the coffee into two mugs.
"He always does that. Shirtless, in boxers. It's been his thing since we got together. I'm used to it by now."
Since we got together… That phrase made something shift in Angie.
Jessica went on, oblivious to her friend's inner turmoil:
"And I have to admit, it's not a bad view—even after all these years of marriage," she added with a playful wink.
Angie lowered her gaze, took her mug, and blew gently over the steaming liquid. She felt trapped by her own thoughts.
"Yeah, I get it… He's got a good body," she murmured.
And she meant it. Too good, even. Now that she'd seen him like that, her whole body was reacting in ways she couldn't control. A subtle shiver ran along her thighs.
---
After breakfast, Angie took a long shower to clear her mind. She stood under the hot water for what felt like ages, hoping the steam would wash away the memory. But it had the opposite effect. Her mind clung to it. Again and again.
She kept seeing the perfect curve of his shoulders, the lines of his abs, the hollow of his lower back.
And above all, his ease. He hadn't apologized. He hadn't looked uncomfortable. Just… himself. Relaxed, handsome, almost too real in that soft, shadowy glow.
Angie felt shaken. Not just by Grégory's body—but by herself. What's wrong with me? Why am I feeling this way about my best friend's husband?
She lathered herself slowly, more to keep her hands busy than out of need. Then, wrapped in a towel, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes looked darker, her expression hesitant. She felt ashamed. And yet… a part of her longed to relive that scene. To replay it differently. To move closer. To touch. The thought alone made her blush.
---
When she came back down to the living room, Grégory was sitting with a book in hand, glasses perched on his nose, deeply focused. He now wore a gray T-shirt and soft cotton pants. Nothing provocative. And yet, to Angie, his body still radiated the memory of the night before.
He looked up and smiled calmly.
"Feeling more awake?"
She nodded.
"Yeah… a bit unsettled, but I'm okay."
He closed the book and removed his glasses.
"Want some tea? Jessica went out to buy some croissants."
"I'd love some, thanks."
He stood. She watched him walk toward the kitchen and had to fight not to stare. But she still felt every muscle move beneath the fabric.
Stop it, Angie… He's married. He belongs to Jessica. You're not even supposed to think about him like that.
And yet, in a small, hidden corner of her heart, something was beating faster.
---
Later, as she was about to leave, Jessica walked her to the door.
"Come back whenever you want. Your room's always ready."
Angie smiled. She wanted to hug her. To thank her for her warmth, her kindness, her generosity. But a quiet guilt held her back. She wasn't the same person she was when she arrived.
In the taxi, she slumped into the seat. The city passed by outside the window, but her mind remained stuck in that house, that living room, that fragile moment in the night.
She knew she'd crossed an invisible line. Not physically. But in her head.
And sometimes… that's even more dangerous.