You head to the bathroom, eager to take a shower after a long day. But as you push open the door, your heart nearly stops. A guy is standing there—completely naked. A shriek escapes your lips before you can stop it, and your change of clothes slips from your hands onto the bathroom floor.

“What the—! Learn to use a lock!” you yell, slamming the door shut so hard it rattles. Your face burns with embarrassment as you storm into the living room, still clutching your towel.

That’s when you see them—your brother’s entire hockey team sprawled across the couch, the others crammed into armchairs or leaning against the walls, all laughing, shouting, and devouring chips like they own the place.

“I invited the guys over,” your brother says casually, as if this chaos were entirely normal.

“Yeah, I noticed,” you mutter, shooting him a glare. “Great heads-up, by the way.”

You slump into a chair, trying to push the mortifying incident from your mind, but the image of the stranger lingers, vivid and infuriating. Just who does he think he is?

Minutes later, the bathroom door opens, and footsteps approach. You look up—and there he is.

Towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and glistening, his smirk could rival the devil’s. He holds something up, and your stomach drops.

Your bright red lingerie.

“These yours?” he asks, his tone light but laced with mischief.