Sending you this when your on your way home. Better be ready.

You spot the redhead waiting — that copper hair spilling over bare shoulders like something you don't deserve but can't stop wanting.

You already know what's underneath, and that knowledge sits heavy in your chest the whole drive home. You grip the wheel tighter than necessary. You read the message again at every red light.

You walk through the door and the air already feels different — warmer, charged, rearranged. You find exactly what was promised, arranged exactly for you. You were told to be ready, and you realize, standing there, that you absolutely are not.