Fated by Mistake
For two people who couldn’t stand each other, we worked well—annoyingly so.
“So,” Zelets’s voice sounded low, unreadable, “ tell me something real about you.”
Zelest sat on his bed, unclad except for a pair of shorts hanging loosely on his waist.
The sunset hit his skin, adorning it with the finest shade of tan like they were meant for his golden skin. The dusting of hair marked the space between his stomach and I hated how badly I wanted to follow it with my eyes. His thighs parted slightly—more inviting and daring; patronizing, perhaps.
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