"That's a nice collection you've got there." Conrad's smirk danced on his lips as we stepped into my bedroom, his gaze sweeping over the chaos that filled the space.

"Oh. My god." My voice pitched higher as embarrassment flooded me. I hadn't fully registered the state of my room until that moment. It looked like a hurricane had hit, leaving a trail of fashion disasters in its wake.

My makeup brushes were scattered across the bed, remnants of my frantic preparation. A mountain of party gowns lay haphazardly over the pillows—evidence of my indecisiveness as I tried on every dress in my closet. And then there were my underwear. Oh, the underwear. Lace and frills mingled with the dreaded granny panties, all strewn about like confetti celebrating my inability to pick just one. I could practically feel the heat radiating from my cheeks as I caught sight of the lace pairs in particular, a glaring reminder of my current state of undress and disorder.

I squirmed in Conrad's arms, desperate to break free and at least attempt to salvage some dignity by clearing the mess, as if that would somehow ease the embarrassment. But his grip tightened, pulling me closer against him. I could hear the amusement in his breath, each chuckle a reminder of my shame.

"Let me go!" I protested, my voice muffled as I buried my face in my hands, the reality of my messy room crashing over me like a wave. The suffocating feeling of humiliation washed over me, and I wondered how I would ever face him again.

"Why? You're so cute when you're flustered." His voice was teasing, and I could almost sense the twinkle in his eye, which only added to my mortification.

With a gentle motion, he set me down on the bed, the soft surface a stark contrast to my inner turmoil. I peeked through my fingers, half-expecting to see him laughing at my plight. Instead, he looked at me with a mix of amusement and humor.

"Seriously, though, I'm not usually this messy," I stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "It's because you were rushing me and I had to run downstairs to the car."

Conrad raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and delight. "Is that supposed to make me feel better about the mess? Because it really isn't working."

"Shut up!" I threw a pillow at him, trying to deflect my embarrassment with humor. He caught it easily, a playful grin spreading across his face.

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But you really do have a nice collection. It's... unique."

"Unique? More like a disaster zone." I glanced around, half-heartedly trying to assess the damage.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, still watching me with that infuriatingly charming smile.

"Ugh! Can we stop talking about my underwear now?" I fell back onto the bed with a soft thud, my cheeks flushed from embarrassment. I could feel a pair or two underneath me as I did. The dim light in the room cast a warm glow on the walls, but the heat radiating from the conversation was undeniable.

The soft mattress provided comfort to my aching muscles, and I sighed with relief as I sank into it. I didn't want to get up; the exhaustion from the party had finally caught up with me.

Conrad's laughter boomed in the room, filling the space with a vibrancy that made my stomach flutter. I couldn't help but feel a little fuzzy inside as he casually laid beside me clearing the garments to make space for himself, his presence both comforting and infuriating.

"Only if you promise to come on a date with me," he said, his tone light yet laced with an undercurrent of seriousness.

My eyes widened, and I froze for a second, caught off guard by his audacity. This man's confidence always surprised me. Wasn't he scared of rejection? I propped myself up on my elbows, studying him as he lay on his back with his arms tucked under his head. The fabric of his shirt clung to his biceps, accentuating the hard contours of his muscles, and I gulped, my throat suddenly dry.

"You're cocky," I managed, trying to regain my composure.

"And you're stalling. It's a simple question. Do you wanna go on a date or not?" He shrugged, mimicking my earlier posture, cocking his head to the side as if he could read my thoughts just by studying my body language.

"I'll think about it." The lie slipped out effortlessly, but I had already made up my mind. I would say yes. I just wanted the pompous bastard to work for it. Someone had to humble his cocky ass.

"Great. Seven o'clock Tuesday. Dress nice." He fell back onto his bed again, returning to his previous position, and closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh.

I gaped in disbelief and shock as he did. What the fuck just happened?

"I said I'll think about it," I reiterated, a hint of irritation creeping into my voice.

"Mhmm." His chest heaved slowly and calmly, as if he were the picture of tranquility while I was the one spiraling into chaos. Is this motherfucker sleeping?

"Conrad!" I slapped his chest, sitting up straight, arms crossed defiantly over my chest.

"What?!" He shot his eyes open, raising an eyebrow as if he were the wronged party.

"Are you seriously falling asleep?!"

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that reverberated through me. "You're just mad because you know you want to say yes." His eyes sparkled with mischief, and I felt a rush of annoyance mixed with undeniable attraction.

"Oh please," I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "You really think I'd just agree to go on a date with you because you asked?"

"Why not? I'm charming, I'm good-looking, and I have a killer sense of humor." He sat up, mirroring my earlier posture, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"More like insufferably arrogant," I retorted, fighting a smile despite myself.

"Maybe. But you're still thinking about it," he leaned closer, the warmth of his body radiating toward me. I could smell his cologne, a mix of cedar and something sweet, and it was making it harder to concentrate. "So what's the worst that could happen? You'll spill a glass of wine on someone?"

I gasped. He did not.

"You'll fall to the floor after tripping on those ridiculously high heels of yours?"

"They're not that high," I argued, glaring at him despite the smile tugging at my lips.

"You sure? You had an orgasm in the car when you took them off," he said with a smug look on his face.

"Fine. What's your point?"

"My point is, anything that could go wrong has already done. So there's nothing you need to be scared of." He sat up straight beside me and bumped my shoulder. I hated how he was winning all the arguments. The woman inside me wanted him to desperately fight for my approval. Not wanting to give up, I challenged him again.

I turned my head to the side, our shoulders almost touching, and smirked. "I'm still going to think about it." I raised my eyebrows and tried to cover a smile as I spoke.

He grinned like the Cheshire Cat and then leaned into me. "How about we clean up this mess and change into something more comfortable so that you can 'think about it' in bed?"

"Sounds good to me," I bumped his shoulder slightly with mine.

As I frantically gathered up the scattered underwear from my bed, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Tossing them into the nearest drawer, I could feel Conrad's amused gaze on me. The mess was bad enough; having him witness it and then try to help? Mortifying. He chuckled softly at my actions but still moved gracefully, picking up my gowns by their hangers, straightening them before handing them to me.

Our fingers brushed as I took the gowns from him, and a jolt of awareness shot through me. Conrad was the epitome of calm and collected, while I was a frantic whirlwind. His composed demeanor only highlighted my own disarray.

Desperate to divert his attention, I quickly pulled out a pair of shorts and grabbed the first T-shirt within reach, not wanting to expose my messy cupboard to his curious eyes any longer.

"What about me?" he asked, his voice low and smooth as I shut the closet and turned around.

"What about you?" I echoed, heading towards the bathroom. Panic gripped me as I tried to remember if my brother had left any clothes here the last time he visited. We'd had a big fight a couple of weeks ago when he asked me to come back home, and I vaguely recalled donating his clothes in a fit of anger. My brother was smaller than Conrad, but his clothes would have fit him well enough.

"Well, I'm not going to sleep in this suit," Conrad said, gesturing to his navy blue suit. The jacket was missing, probably left in the car.

"That's unfortunate. I guess you'll have to sleep without it then." The words left my mouth before I could stop them, and I watched in horror as Conrad's eyebrows shot up. I hadn't meant it that way. Flustered, I tried to backtrack. "I mean, you could sleep naked. I mean, shirtless, and then take off the pants. Pantless. Yeah." I was fidgeting with my shirt, rambling nervously, the heat rising to my face.

"Okay, bye." I blurted out before darting into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind me.

Leaning against the cool, tiled wall, I took a deep breath, willing my racing heart to slow down. I'd just made a complete fool of myself in front of Conrad. Why did I always have to be such a mess around him?

As I splashed cold water on my face, I could still hear his soft laughter through the door. Despite my embarrassment, a small smile tugged at my lips. Maybe, just maybe, there was something endearing about my frantic energy. Or maybe I was just fooling myself.

I'd have to face him again soon enough, but for now, I allowed myself a moment to gather my scattered thoughts and calm my frayed nerves.

My hand hesitates over my face, holding a cotton ball soaked in cleanser, as I deliberate whether to remove my makeup before joining Conrad in bed. I tap the black screen of my phone, watching as it illuminates. If the time was odd, I would remove my makeup entirely; if even, I would keep it minimal, removing only the glitter and lipstick and applying natural shades.

3:47 a.m.

It's coming off. I quickly dab the cold solution over my face, wash it off, and gently pat my skin dry with a towel.

I stare at my plain face in the mirror, noting the faint dark circles visible if one looked closely. I bite my lip, suddenly self-conscious about my appearance. My hair is secured with a claw clip, and I absentmindedly move the toothbrush in my mouth like a programmed robot.

I wasn't as pretty or smart as Valerie and Elise. At some point during the party, I felt out of place despite getting along well with them. They were right; life was different on the other side—the side I had once said no to and had managed to escape before being dragged back in.

There were nights when my mother stayed awake without sleep or food, waiting for my father to return home, injured and bruised. There were also days when neither of them came home, and we were sent to other people's houses to stay safe.

Conrad's voice reaches my ears, muffled through the closed bathroom door. Spitting out the remnants of toothpaste, I rinse my mouth and step out to find him pacing in the room, his phone to his ear and his shirt unbuttoned. His hair looks like a squirrel had just rummaged through it.

I avert my gaze from his chiseled chest, now fully exposed, revealing a tattoo that had been concealed by his shirt. I clench my hands into fists, resisting the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Given the seriousness of his demeanor, this was not the appropriate time to succumb to my desires.

Conrad's expression is tense, his brows furrowed as he speaks into the phone. He doesn't notice me at first, too absorbed in his conversation. I can't make out the words, but the tone is unmistakably urgent. I quietly approach, not wanting to startle him, but needing to know what's going on.

As he turns, his eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, the worry in his face softens. He gestures for me to come closer, still talking into the phone. I sit on the edge of the bed, my hands nervously playing with the hem of my shirt. The room feels charged with unspoken tension.

Finally, he ends the call and sets his phone down on the nightstand, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He looks at me, his eyes searching mine, as if trying to find the right words to say.

"That was work," he begins, his voice weary. "There's been a...situation, and I might need to leave early tomorrow." He sighs, sitting next to me and taking my hand in his. "I don't want this to affect our time together."

I squeeze his hand, offering a small smile. "It's okay. I understand."

He pulls me into an embrace, resting his chin on the top of my head. The warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat are comforting, anchoring me in the moment.

"What time do you need to leave?" I ask quietly, biting the inside of my cheek, dreading the answer.

"I need to be at the office by 8. It's only a few minutes from here, but I need to stop by my apartment to change. So, I'll leave around 6:30."

"You have an apartment?"

He chuckles, holding me tighter. "Yes, I do. Maybe I'll take you there sometime." He kisses the top of my head, and I sigh against him, feeling a mixture of relief and longing.

For now, I push aside my insecurities and the shadows of the past, focusing instead on the here and now, wrapped in Conrad's arms.

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
2454 words

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