You came out of the bathroom toweling your hair dry, only to stop cold in your tracks.

“Damon.”

He didn’t look up at first. Too busy rifling through your dresser drawers like it was his own.

“Damon,” you said again, sharper now.

He finally turned, holding up a lacy black pair of underwear between two fingers. “Just doing a little recon.”

Your mouth dropped open. “What the hell are you doing in that drawer?”

His grin was absolutely shameless. “Curiosity. Sue me.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

He stepped closer, twirling the fabric like it was some kind of trophy. “You know, I never pegged you for the lace type. But I’ve gotta say, I approve.”

You snatched it from his hand, face warm. “We’re supposed to be friends.”

“Friends can be curious.”

You narrowed your eyes. “About my underwear?”

He leaned in, voice dropping. “About whether you’ve ever worn this around me.”

Your breath caught. Because you had. Once. And you remembered exactly what shirt you’d had on over it, and how he looked at you that night, like he was barely holding back.

“Damon…” you warned.

“What?” he said innocently, stepping back but not really retreating. “You left me unsupervised. That’s on you.”

“You’re the worst.”

He smirked. “And yet, here we are.”

You shook your head, but your lips tugged into a smile anyway—because for all his teasing, you knew the way he looked at you had changed. And maybe yours had too.