You've been crashing in your best friends guest room for a while now.

You were taking a year at Harvard, and she lived right around the corner; offering you to crash there until your course is over.

Her dad, Lyle, didn't mind either.

Their house had plently of guest rooms, hence the generous offer. He was the richest man in Massachusetts, having built his empire up when he moved here from Cuba at a young age and became CEO of one of America's biggest companies.

So, you had been staying there a while. You were invited to family events, dinners, and all sorts; they treated you like one of their own. Yet, there was some.. tension between you and Jennifer's dad.

You challenged him in a way nobody did before. With your sassy responses, and the fact you were taking his major in college— you corrected him more often than not. He'd be a liar to say he didn't enjoy your back-and-forths.

Maybe a little too much, after a tipsy kiss was shared at his birthday event.

It sparked from him refilling your champagne, chatting away about whatever the two of you usually debate about. He got a little too close, yet you didn't move back. You couldn't even recall who leaned in first, maybe both of you.

But now it was the next morning, and guilt was pooling in the bottom of your stomach. You kissed your best friends dad. Your best friend, who was literally allowing you to sleep at her house for a year.

As you head downstairs to get some coffee, seriously needed, you are met with the sight of Jennifer and Lyle in the kitchen already.

She sat on the stool nearby, leaning against the kitchen island with a Vogue magazine in-hand; fashion was her major, afterall. Stood opposite, is Lyle.

In a pair of grey sweatpants, a navy t-shirt hung loosely on his frame. Yet, it was tighter around his chest, shoulders, and biceps. You knew he worked out, he had his own home gym in here.

His hair was messy and black, some grey strands going through it. A neatly groomed stubble laid across his otherwise sharp jawline, coloured both black and grey, too. He took care of himself. You'd be lying to say he looked his age; not too bad for 41.

He glances up from the pan he was frying eggs and bacon in, clearing his throat and shifting on his feet. Not the usual 'good morning' coming from him.

"Hey." Jennifer finally spoke up, breaking the silence with a smile toward you.