7

I walk into my classroom, and the vibrant energy of my little students instantly fills the air. The smell of paint and the sound of excited chatter fills the room. Today is art day, and the kids are buzzing with excitement as they gather around the tables, eager to get started.

I smile as I make my way to the front of the class, ready to teach my young artists the wonders of finger painting. The kids are already seated, their eyes wide with anticipation. I pick up a brush and dip it into the paint, showing them how to mix the primary colours to create new ones. Their faces light up with understanding as they follow along, mixing red and yellow to make orange, and blue and yellow to make green.

I guide them to use their fingers instead of brushes, as they are too young to handle brushes. Surprisingly, for a group of primarily five-year-olds, they're incredibly smart. They catch on quickly, giggling with delight as they swirl their fingers through the paint, creating their own masterpieces. It's moments like these that remind me why I love teaching and why I love art .

"Look, Miss, I made purple!" one of the kids exclaims, holding up their painted hands for me to see.

"That's wonderful, Tommy!" I praise, giving him a high five and instantly getting paint all over my hand. I laugh, shaking my head at the mess. "You're all doing such a great job!" I walk over to the sink, still grinning, and quickly rinse off my hands.

As the kids continue to paint, I can't help but think about my own art. Painting has always been a passion of mine, and I often dream of one day showcasing my works in a gallery. But in our small town, opportunities for artists are scarce. For now, I'm content to paint for fun and teach these young minds the joys of creativity.

No one, apart from my family and Olivia, knows that I paint. It's not like I have a big group of friends, anyway, but it's not something I just willingly share with people. I'm too shy for that. My art is like a secret world that I escape to, where I can express myself freely without judgement. Maybe one day, I'll have the courage to share it with the world. But for now, it's enough to know that I have this creative outlet to call my own.

Just then, my phone buzzes with a text message from Olivia, my best friend.

Olivia's always been so supportive of my art, and I'm grateful for her. But every time I think of her, Bradley's right there in my mind, sending shivers down my spine.

Bloody hell. I thought by now, with a bit of age and wisdom, I'd be over this massive crush on him. But he makes it impossible. It's like he's everywhere lately, impossible to ignore.

At twenty-four, still being a virgin bothers me.

Am I doing something wrong? Do I need to put myself out there more?

I yearn for a love like my sister Kat's, to be married someday with kids. But when will that happen for me? I know I'm young, but these thoughts throw me off balance. Just as I'm lost in thoughts of Bradley, another text pops up.

My heart races as Dahlia calls for help, pulling me from thoughts of Bradley. Panic sets in momentarily as I juggle Liv's request and my swirling emotions. Flustered at work, embarrassment floods through me—how could I let myself get worked up over a guy, especially here ?

It's absurd.

The thought of seeing Bradley again, after the other day, adds to my nerves. A tingle spreads through me, excitement and anxiety swirling in my stomach.

Butterflies? Maybe. I'm not sure.

What if he's there?

Suddenly, I find myself hoping he is.

As I pull into the long dirt driveway leading to the Mitchell's house, my heart flutters like a flock of startled birds. The sight of their farmhouse nestled among the fields brings a smile to my face, despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. It's a modernised farmhouse, a converted barn with thick stone walls and oak beams, giving it a rustic charm that I've always admired.

But as I drive further up the dirt path, my questions from earlier are answered, and not in the way I wanted. My heart sinks as I realise Bradley's ute is parked right there.

Of course, he's home.

My stomach churns with nerves and disappointment, completely contradicting my earlier thoughts.

Yeah, that part of me earlier, the one that secretly wished he'd be home? It can take a flying leap, for all I care. Because right now, my stomach is doing somersaults !

I take a deep breath to calm myself, but it's useless. Sitting in the car, nerves and uncertainty whirl around me. I try again, taking another deep breath to steady my racing heart. I smooth out my skirt, adjust my shirt, and fiddle with my gold rings—all nervous habits I can't seem to shake.

Why bother? Bradley won't care what I look like.

Chuckling at my own silliness, I pull out my phone and quickly text Olivia.

Minutes pass, but there's no response.

Damn you, Olivia.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I step out of the car and make my way to the front of the house, up the wooden stairs. The front door is open, with the screen door closed. I tug on the handle, finding it's unlocked. Do I... just walk in?

Well, you're no stranger, Amelia.

Glancing around, I see no other cars apart from Olivia's and Bradley's, so I assume their parents aren't home. I check my phone again—still no text back from her.

Alright, let's do this.

I walk in, figuring Olivia has to be around somewhere. As I step inside, the familiar warmth of their home surrounds me, easing some of my nerves.

"Olivia?" I call out, hoping for a response. But the house remains quiet, the only sound is my own footsteps echoing in the hallway. I walk further into the large open lounge room, where the kitchen and dining room are, and find nothing. The quietness of the house unsettles me. There's no sign of Olivia.

Or Bradley.

That's a relief. For now.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I decide to check upstairs. As I head up the staircase, I notice the main bathroom door is slightly ajar down the hallway. Olivia must be showering.

But why would the door be open? Maybe she's airing it out? Or does she just like living dangerously?

As I get closer, my heart starts pounding. What's this weird feeling? I shouldn't be doing this—I know it. But Olivia wouldn't mind, right? We've seen everything of each other.

With hesitant steps, I draw closer, the floorboards creaking under my weight.

And then I freeze.

Because the person in the shower is, in fact, not Olivia. Nope, definitely not Olivia.

Standing in the shower is... Bradley.

Oh, my god!

Internally panicking, I have no idea what to do. The floorboards creak under my footsteps, and I stop dead in my tracks. Holy crap!

I'm rooted in place, captivated but terrified of the sight before my eyes. Bradley stands under the shower, running his hands through his hair. The door is only opened slightly, ajar, so I can't see much, but I'm seeing everything. I move to walk away slowly, but stop myself. I can't.

I'm too… tempted. Intrigued.

I've never seen a guy naked before—sure, in porn once, but never in real life. And Bradley, right now, is every bit naked— everything on display. My cheeks go all warm and fuzzy, and I feel tingles zipping down to my toes. I can't tear my eyes away as he lathers up, hands gliding over those ripped abs.

My goodness, I'm seeing more dips and ridges than a mountain range!

My eyes wander lower, lower, and nearly pop out of my head at the sight of his... manhood. Why does that sound so weird in my head? Cock? Yeah, that's what I hear most often.

Let's stick with that.

Bradley's cock is... massive. Like, seriously huge—just hanging out there. Jesus Christ!

Suddenly, Bradley shifts, catching sight of me in the doorway. His face morphs into complete shock. His eyes lock onto mine, wide and unblinking, like he's seen a ghost. He raises his brows but doesn't move to cover up. I'm frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, unable to look away.

Why am I still standing here?

I gasp, the realisation hitting me like a ton of bricks. I've been caught red-handed—okay, red-faced—snooping where I definitely shouldn't be. With a sharp intake of breath, I bolt downstairs, my cheeks burning hotter than the sun.

As I tumble down the stairs, my mind still spinning, I crash right into someone with a loud, "oof!" and a startled exclamation of, "Oh, shit. What the fuck!"

Stumbling back, I try to regain my balance. "Oh my god, Liv! I'm so sorry!" I blurt out, realising I've bumped into her, who's clutching a basket of eggs.

"Dude, where did you even come from?" Olivia exclaims, clearly shaken. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I, uh," I stutter, feeling my cheeks blaze with embarrassment, hoping they're not turning as red as ripe tomatoes. "Don't you check your bloody phone? I texted you that I was here!" I explain, gesturing between us.

"I was just out back, collecting these silly eggs for Mum," Olivia says with an exasperated sigh, patting her pockets and realising her phone's missing. "Shit, I must've left it on the table inside."

"Well, that's just perfect," I mutter under my breath, feeling a mix of relief and humiliation.

"You okay? You look... all flustered," Olivia observes, her brow furrowing in concern.

I huff out a nervous laugh, trying to shake off the awkwardness. How do I even begin to tell her I just stumbled upon her brother in the shower, all wet and completely naked? Oh right, I'm definitely not telling her.

No way.

"I'm good. You just startled me, is all," I say, trying to sound nonchalant, but probably failing miserably.

"Righto," Olivia responds, her smile now more amused than curious.

Clearing my throat, I feel the awkwardness settling in. "Um, those supplies you bought? I've just come to grab them and then I'll be out of your hair." Olivia places the basket of eggs on the kitchen bench, and I follow her.

"Oh yeah, they're just here," Olivia says, heading to the dining table to grab the plastic bag sitting on top. "I saw these today and just had to grab them for you," she adds, giving me a playful wink.

Opening the plastic bag, I discover a round wooden paint palette, a set of graphite pencils, and a small pack of oil paints. Olivia's thoughtfulness strikes me, and I silently marvel, wow.

"This is amazing! I actually needed a new palette," I exclaim.

"I know! I remember you telling me, so I had to grab it."

"How much do I owe you?"

"What? No, don't be silly, they had a sale. It honestly cost me nothing," Liv insists.

I beam gratefully at her and go in for a tight hug. As I let go of Olivia, footsteps from behind send a chill down my spine. Oh, God, I can't possibly face him after what just happened.

Bradley steps into view, now dressed in black track pants and a fitted white t-shirt. All the air whooshes out of my lungs, and I exhale shakily.

Liv notices Bradley. "Oh, you're home," she states.

"Clearly," he deadpans, his eyes locking with mine. Oh, God. I should bolt.

His gaze holds mine, exchanging silent messages, all while pretending he wasn't just caught naked moments ago. Then, his eyes drop to the palette I'm still clutching.

"You paint or something?" he asks casually, his tone almost teasing.

I fumble with the palette, avoiding his gaze like it's a hot stove. "Um, yeah, a bit. It's a hobby, nothing important," I manage, my voice cracking slightly.

"Nothing special? Come on, you're seriously talented," Liv chimes in, and I feel my cheeks flush even more. Great, now Bradley's still watching me with that unreadable expression.

"I-I'm gonna go, okay?" I blurt out.

"Already? Stay for a bit," Liv insists, but I can't handle the tension.

"No, no. I-I really need to get home," I stammer, hastily stuffing the palette back into the bag and giving Olivia a quick, awkward hug. Liv looks puzzled, but explanations can wait for another time. I bolt out the door, practically sprinting to my car, where I fumble with my keys, hands shaking like I've just downed a litre of espresso. Finally, I manage to unlock the car door and flop inside.

What on earth just happened back there? Did he... enjoy catching me gawking at him?

Oh, don't be ridiculous , the voice in my head says. He probably thinks you're a total weirdo now.

How am I supposed to look him in the eye after that mortifying encounter? And why does it feel like my heart is still racing a marathon, even though I'm safely ensconced in my car?

Deep breaths, Amelia. Deep breaths.

I start the car, trying to calm my nerves. Life suddenly feels like a cringe-worthy rom-com.

Note to self: avoid awkward encounters with naked guys in the future.

Ugh, no wonder I'm single—classic awkward Amelia strikes again!