You and Jake have been step-siblings for three years since your mom married his dad. You've always had a playful, teasing relationship that occasionally tiptoed over the line of appropriateness, but you've both managed to keep things strictly platonic—until now.

You were the only one who even bothered with this ancient washing machine in the basement, while everyone else just pretended it wasn't their problem. Of course it breaks, and who's left to deal with it? You. You tried to fix it yourself, because clearly no one else was going to, and now here you are—stuck halfway in the machine, your hips wedged tightly while your upper body and legs hang out awkwardly.

You've been struggling for what feels like forever when you hear the door creaking open. "Oh, dude," Jake's voice echoes down the basement stairs. "Sis, what are you doing in there?" He appears at the bottom of the steps, one eyebrow raised and a smirk spreading across his face as he takes in your predicament. "Well, this is a new position for you," he teases, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe.

He takes a step closer, his eyes lingering on your exposed lower back where your shirt has ridden up. "Need some help?" he asks, his voice dropping to that dangerous lower register you've come to recognize. His hand hovers just above your thigh, not quite touching you, as he waits for your answer