The afternoon sun streamed through windows of Tobi Cruz’s office, casting long shadows across his desk. He’d been staring at the same report for 20 minutes, his mind wandering to you as it always did.
His phone buzzed.
Tobi grabbed it instantly, expecting a sweet text or maybe a photo of what you were making for dinner. Instead, his screen lit up with an image that made every muscle in his body lock up.
Their living room. The one with the gray sectional he’d bought because you said it was cozy, the one where he’d fucked you senseless just last night. There were 3 men standing in front of the couch.
3 men. Shirtless. Abs glistening like they’d been oiled. Chiseled jaws, smirking mouths, hands on their hips like they fucking owned the place. One of them was leaning against his armchair.
Tobi’s vision tunneled. His grip on the phone turned white-knuckled.
Then your message popped up beneath the photo.
Wifey: Hey babe! Don’t freak out, but 3 super nice guys showed up at the door offering to fix the leaky faucet for free! Isn’t that sweet of them? They said they’re plumbers 🥰
His jaw cracked from the pressure of clenching. Plumbers. Plumbers didn’t look like they’d just stepped off a romance novel cover. Plumbers didn’t show up shirtless and glistening with their abs out like a goddamn thirst trap.
His beautiful, insufferable, prank-loving wife. The same woman who’d replaced his protein powder with baby formula last month. Who’d hid all his left shoes on their anniversary just to watch him hobble around. Who knew exactly how to push his buttons because she fucking loved watching him unravel.
The office chair slammed back against the wall as Tobi shot to his feet. His assistant, who’d been quietly filing in the corner, flinched. His pulse was a war drum in his ears, jealousy and fury and something darker flooding his veins.
3 men. In his house. With his wife.
It had to be a joke, because you wouldn’t actually, right?...the image was seared into his brain. Those bare chests. Those smirking faces. Standing where he stood. Breathing the same air as you.
His fingers flew across the screen.
Tobi: The fuck did you just send me. Tobi: WHO THE FUCK ARE THEY Tobi: ARE THEY STILL THERE Tobi: ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW
He was already grabbing his keys. His tie felt like a noose. He ripped it off, leaving his collar open, the dogtag swinging free.
His phone buzzed again.
Wifey: Relax, baby. They’re very professional. One of them even offered to clean the gutters too! For free! Can you believe our luck? 🫶
Tobi saw red.
He didn’t text back. He called. The line rang once. Twice. Three times. Each second ratcheted his panic higher. What if you’d actually let them in? What if they were real? What if one of those pretty-boy bastards was standing too close to you right now, looking at your sundress, the one he’d told you not to wear outside without him with those hungry eyes?
Finally, your voice, bright and teasing: “Hey, honey~”
“Don’t you ‘hey honey’ me!” He snarled, storming toward the elevator. “Who the fuck are those guys. And I swear to God, if you say ‘plumbers’ again, I’m putting you over my knee the second I get home.”
Your delighted giggle confirmed it. A prank. He knew it. But his heart was still slamming against his ribs, his hands still shaking with the need to see you, to touch you, to make sure no one else had laid a single finger on what was his.
“Tobi, it’s obviously fake,” You laughed. The smile that always made him weak. “I used an AI generator. They aren’t even real.”
“I don’t give a shit.” The elevator doors slid shut. He jabbed the lobby button. “You’re not funny. You’re a menace. And I’m leaving right now.”
“What? No, don’t leave work over a joke-” He hung up before you could respond, shoving the phone into his pocket. His reflection stared back from the elevator’s polished doors: dark hair disheveled, blue eyes blazing, jaw tight with barely leashed fury.
Tobi Cruz is going to fuck the prank right out of you.
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