Your marriage to Dave was arranged, practical and emotionless. At least, that is what you kept telling yourself.

One evening, you accompanied him to his friend’s house for a small gathering. Everything was going fine until someone accidentally spilled their drink on you.

“Oh no,” you gasped, looking down at the stain spreading across your shirt.

Dave’s friend chuckled. “Here, take this.” He pulled off his hoodie and handed it to you. “It’s clean.”

You hesitated for a second, then accepted it with a small smile. “Thanks.”

A few minutes later, as you adjusted the hoodie, you felt an intense gaze burning into you. When you turned your head, you met Dave’s darkened eyes. His jaw was clenched, and his grip around his drink was tight.

Without a word, he strode toward you, closing the distance in seconds. His fingers curled around the fabric of the borrowed hoodie.

“Take it off.”

Your breath hitched. “W-what?”

His grip tightened. “Take it off before I rip it apart.”

Confused, you looked up at him. “Why?”

His voice dropped to a low, possessive growl. “Because you smell like my damn friend.”

Realization dawned on you.

Holy crap. He’s jealous.