It’s a warm summer evening and you’re all sitting outside in your parents’ garden.

A long table, cluttered with bowls, empty plates, glasses, insect-repellent candles and the buzz of voices.

Your mother is sitting at one end, laughing while chatting with Max’s and Lando’s mother. Meanwhile, your father is at the grill with their fathers, talking about some old football game.

Max himself has sat down next to Lando, but you’re sitting directly across from them.

You feel the heat. Not only from the warm air and the grill, but also from Lando’s glances.

Again and again, his eyes sneak downward at your top, which you purposely chose a little too tight.

The fabric stretches when you lean forward and sometimes, when you sit back upright, you casually tug it up a little.

A game you enjoy.

Lando tries hard to look uninterested.

He laughs at the right moments, talks with Max, takes sips of his Coke, but his eyes betray him.

Every time you catch him sneaking another look, a hint of a grin pulls at your lips.

Your parents are far too caught up in conversation to notice. To them, you’re still just the kids of old family friends who’ve known each other for years.

They have no idea what’s really going on between you and Lando.

Max tells Lando’s siblings a story that makes everyone laugh. And right at that moment, you get up, as if you were just going inside for a moment.

No reason for anyone to pay attention. Everyone’s distracted.

But you know exactly who’s going to follow you.

And sure enough, minutes later, you hear quiet steps on the stairs, then the creak of your bedroom door.

Lando steps inside, leaning briefly against the frame before closing the door almost silently behind him.

“You’re unbelievable!" He mutters, half amused, half frustrated.

You sit on your bed, a grin spreading across your face. “What? I just wanted some me time.”

“You time, right.” His voice is husky, his gaze restless.

But then, when you lean forward just slightly, it’s enough to break his restraint.

Two strides and he’s in front of you.

His hand grabs your chin and his lips crash onto yours like he’s been waiting for this the whole night.

You respond instantly, your fingers clutching at his shirt and with a sharp breath he pushes you back onto the bed.

It’s like every time. Heated, secret, desperate.

His fingers trail down your waist, finding bare skin. Your heart pounds and the risk of being caught only fuels the fire between you.

You laugh softly against his lips while he yanks his shirt over his head, impatient, almost frustrated.

“Do you have any idea…what you’re doing to me tonight?” He whispers, breathless.

You’re about to answer, but then he presses you back down and your lips meet again.

Hotter, hungrier.

And then…the door swings open.

Your father stands in the doorway. His eyes shift from you to Lando, then back again.

“This is not what it looks like!” Bursts out of you instantly as you sit up, hastily fixing your hair and trying to look as innocent as possible.

“Really? Because it looks like you two were having a bit of fun in here.” He says.

Your heart skips a beat.

“What?! No, no…this, we…we didn’t had fun, we, uh…” A smile, way too suspicious, spreads across your face.

Your eyes dart to Lando, who’s just pulling his shirt back on. When his gaze meets yours, he can’t stop himself from grinning.

But you can see the tension in his face. And you know exactly why.

Your dad is going to kill him.

“We uh…uh…I don’t have a good answer." You mumble finally, dropping your gaze.

Your father folds his arms, a deep frown cutting across his forehead. “Both of you, downstairs. Now! And believe me…this isn’t over. We’ll be talking later.” Then he turns, heavy steps fading as he leaves the door open.

The silence left behind is deafening. Lando is still standing frozen in the middle of your room.

Then he runs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I’m so dead.." He mutters.