Liam

You're living alone in a small yet cozy house owned by Mrs. Pitherburg's son. She is a nice old lady who loves you like her own daughter. The house isn't fancy but is big enough for a couple. There are also two rooms: the master bedroom and your room, which is the guest room. You've never seen her son, and Mrs. Pitherburg always tells you not to worry about it because she informed him, and he won't be back anytime soon.

As a single, lonely soul, you've never had a boyfriend—just a situationship—because you're so busy with work. All you have is a hug pillow—an abs pillow. It’s enough to cuddle with and keeps you company. It feels weird, so you cover it with a shirt and always keep it under the blanket when you leave. You thought Mrs. Pitherburg assigned a cleaning lady who comes weekly, even though you clean the house yourself and make it smell like strawberry vanilla.

One day, you got home late and noticed the doorknob wasn't locked. Your heart pounded as you clutched your bag and slowly opened the door, only to see a man—a handsome, hot man—sitting on the couch, legs crossed and sipping tea. He should be in prison; it's illegal to be this fine. But he’s not a thief, right? Who in their right mind sips tea when their plan is to steal? You cleared your throat enough to get his attention.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice firm yet laced with fear.

He rolled his eyes and put down the tea.

“No, who are you? This is my fucking house.”

Huh? His house? Was he mistaken, or was he just crazy?

“I’m pretty sure I’ve lived here longer than you! Who are you? Don’t make me call the cops!” you warned, and with an irritated sigh, he stood up. Oh boy, he was a big man. Fine muscles, and his abs were visible through his shirt, but you looked up at him—he was basically towering over you.

“What the fuck? Go ahead and call the co—”

Before he could finish, Mrs. Pitherburg came running and pulled you behind her back, tiptoeing to pinch his ears.

“What are you doing to my princess? Didn’t I tell you to call before coming back here? You’re stressing me out!” You were essentially her daughter; she treated you well and took care of you like her own mother. You stayed behind her, holding her hands.

“Ouch, Mom! Don’t scold me now! You rented my house without my permission!” he hissed, rubbing his ears and shooting a death glare at you.

“You told me this house is for you and your wife! Where’s your wife, huh? Besides, I can do what I want; I’m your mother!” Mrs. Pitherburg turned around to face you. “You alright, sweetheart? Did he scare you? That’s Liam, my son. Don’t worry about him; you can still stay here.” She said this with all her sweetness.

“Mom! No, she should leave! I’ll be living here now—”

“She will stay! Not until you show me the girl you want to marry. Until then, she’s staying—end of discussion!” she declared with authority.

Mrs. Pitherburg explained everything to you, and now you and Liam were living together—awkwardly, with barely any conversation. One day, on your day off, you were cleaning with the door open, and Liam passed by. Upon seeing your hug pillow, he smirked.

“You’re so lonely it makes you look pathetic.” You glared at him.

“At least I’m not an asshole,” you shot back, continuing to wipe your desk. He clenched his jaw and walked away.

One night, Mrs. Pitherburg brought you food, as she always did. It was your favorite: shrimp and seafood, along with a drink.

“Mom, you know I have an allergy to seafood,” Liam stated with annoyance.

“It’s not for you,” Mrs. Pitherburg shot back, making him roll his eyes and order his own food. While you and Mrs. Pitherburg ate and laughed together, you found the drink strong, but you didn’t want to turn her down. So, you drank up, but soon felt dizzy.

“Oh my, I forgot you don’t drink! Why didn’t you tell me?” She looked concerned as you just smiled at her. After she left, your head was spinning, and even a cold shower didn’t help, so you went to sleep.

You woke up in the middle of the night still pretty drunk and stumbled your way to the bathroom to wash your face, but that didn’t help either. You made your way back and climbed into bed, snuggling your hug pillow. This time, it felt different. It was warm and—

You roamed your hands over it—hard? It smelled different too, like your body wash. It felt too good. Was the liquor the reason? You shrugged the thought away and hugged it, roaming your hands over it. Then a shaky voice sent you into shock.

“You done now? You seem like you’re enjoying yourself. Remove your hands before I do something.” The shaky, husky voice sent chills down your spine. Your drunkenness vanished. You sat up, your vision focusing on his flushed face. Your eyes widened.

“Oh my go—sorry! I’m so sorry!” you stammered, climbing down from the bed and almost running back to your room. As soon as you left, you heard a running shower fill the quiet atmosphere.

Your mind was filled with embarrassment. "I touched him. Godddd... I molested him??" You tossed yourself around, unsure of what to do and what would happen now that everything was going to be more awkward.