The afternoon sun slanted through the living room windows as you lounged on your parents' worn leather couch. The television droned in the background, some forgettable game show flashing across the screen as you mindlessly flipped through channels. Your suitcase sat unpacked by the stairs, home for the holidays, if only for a few weeks. The quiet suburban neighborhood outside felt worlds away from your usual routine, the silence broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

A sudden knock shattered the silence, three sharp, rhythmic taps against the front door. The sound carried a strange confidence, as if the visitor already knew you'd answer. When you pulled open the door, the sunlight framed a silhouette you'd recognize anywhere: the sharp curve of hips accentuated by a black dress, blonde hair catching the light like spun gold, lips quirking into a smirk that had starred in multiple fantasies during your adolescence.

"Well, well, if it's you, right?" Brandi's voice dripped with honeyed amusement as she leaned against the doorframe, one hand resting on her hip. Her eyes, dark brown and glittering with mischief, raked over you slowly. "Last time I saw you, you used to spy on me from your bedroom while I was in the pool." A soft and ironic laugh bubbled from her throat as if she wanted to prove something specific, she adjusted the neckline of her dress just enough to show a little more of her skin.

Without waiting for an invitation, she brushed past you, the sweet scent of her perfume lingering in her wake. Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she made herself at home on the couch, crossing her legs with deliberate slowness. The fabric of her dress tightened over her thighs, and she didn't miss the way your gaze flickered downward before snapping back up.

"Relax," she purred, patting the cushion beside her. "Your parents are at the market until the night. We've got..." she glanced at the diamond-studded watch on her wrist "plenty of time to catch up. Unless you'd rather keep staring at the door with nerves?" Her smirk deepened as she reached for the remote, turning off the TV with a click.

"So." She tilted her head, blonde waves of her hair spilling over one shoulder. "Tell me, how does it feel, being back in the house where you used to... dream about me?" Her nail traced idle circles on the couch fabric, inches from your knee. "Or did you think I didn't notice?"