Woke Up Naked Next to a Stranger - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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Vanessa swooped in just in time, deftly defusing the tension and steering Peter away before things escalated. Without her quick thinking, the night could've turned into a full-blown disaster.
She pulled me outside, her irritation written all over her face. "Sophia," she sighed, "we're supposed to be letting loose tonight, not auditioning for a lifetime commitment. What's with the intensity?"
Her words hit me like a splash of cold water. Maybe I had overreacted. A simple "no thanks" would've sufficed instead of slapping the guy and unleashing a verbal storm.
But she wasn't wrong—we were all grown-ups here, out to have a good time. Why was I pretending otherwise?
Then, like an unwelcome ghost, the memory of Ethan's icy indifference floated back, and—surprise—a restless ache flickered in my chest.
Back in my silent, sterile apartment, I collapsed onto the bed, replaying Ryan's ridiculous joke from earlier. A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it.
And just like that, Ryan's face flashed in my mind, sending my heart into a frantic little dance.
Ethan stumbled in late—again. I didn't even notice when sleep finally dragged me under.
The next morning, the only evidence he'd been home at all was the crumpled shirt tossed on the bathroom floor.
At work, Ryan's gaze had shifted—softened. The way he looked at me now sent my pulse skittering.
Around ten, he appeared at my desk with coffee, then—with a bashful grin—produced a small gift box from behind his back.
"Ryan, what's this?"
I had no clue what was inside, but my heart didn't care—it was already sprinting.
"Sophia, your stocking's torn," he murmured, gesturing to the back of my right leg, his cheeks flushing. "I ran downstairs to grab you a new pair."
Twisting to look, I gasped. A gaping hole glared back at me from my black stockings. Mortification burned through me—but so did a rush of warmth at his thoughtfulness.
Flustered, I grabbed the new pair, ready to swap them out.
"I'll give you privacy," he offered, turning to leave.
"No, help me."
The words escaped before my brain could intervene. We both froze, heat crawling up our necks.
"Sophia, that's… not exactly professional," he stammered, his discomfort palpable.
"Just do it," I teased, though my heart pounded like a drum.
I perched on my chair, slipping off my heels and stretching my legs toward him. His face mirrored my own nervous excitement, cheeks blazing.
But as Ryan gingerly hooked his fingers under the torn stocking, the office door burst open.
We jerked apart like guilty teenagers—just in time to see Ethan stride in, his expression thunderous.
"Sophia, what the hell is this?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His fist flew before Ryan could react, splitting his lip on impact.
She pulled me outside, her irritation written all over her face. "Sophia," she sighed, "we're supposed to be letting loose tonight, not auditioning for a lifetime commitment. What's with the intensity?"
Her words hit me like a splash of cold water. Maybe I had overreacted. A simple "no thanks" would've sufficed instead of slapping the guy and unleashing a verbal storm.
But she wasn't wrong—we were all grown-ups here, out to have a good time. Why was I pretending otherwise?
Then, like an unwelcome ghost, the memory of Ethan's icy indifference floated back, and—surprise—a restless ache flickered in my chest.
Back in my silent, sterile apartment, I collapsed onto the bed, replaying Ryan's ridiculous joke from earlier. A laugh bubbled up before I could stop it.
And just like that, Ryan's face flashed in my mind, sending my heart into a frantic little dance.
Ethan stumbled in late—again. I didn't even notice when sleep finally dragged me under.
The next morning, the only evidence he'd been home at all was the crumpled shirt tossed on the bathroom floor.
At work, Ryan's gaze had shifted—softened. The way he looked at me now sent my pulse skittering.
Around ten, he appeared at my desk with coffee, then—with a bashful grin—produced a small gift box from behind his back.
"Ryan, what's this?"
I had no clue what was inside, but my heart didn't care—it was already sprinting.
"Sophia, your stocking's torn," he murmured, gesturing to the back of my right leg, his cheeks flushing. "I ran downstairs to grab you a new pair."
Twisting to look, I gasped. A gaping hole glared back at me from my black stockings. Mortification burned through me—but so did a rush of warmth at his thoughtfulness.
Flustered, I grabbed the new pair, ready to swap them out.
"I'll give you privacy," he offered, turning to leave.
"No, help me."
The words escaped before my brain could intervene. We both froze, heat crawling up our necks.
"Sophia, that's… not exactly professional," he stammered, his discomfort palpable.
"Just do it," I teased, though my heart pounded like a drum.
I perched on my chair, slipping off my heels and stretching my legs toward him. His face mirrored my own nervous excitement, cheeks blazing.
But as Ryan gingerly hooked his fingers under the torn stocking, the office door burst open.
We jerked apart like guilty teenagers—just in time to see Ethan stride in, his expression thunderous.
"Sophia, what the hell is this?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His fist flew before Ryan could react, splitting his lip on impact.
End of Woke Up Naked Next to a Stranger Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Woke Up Naked Next to a Stranger book page.