Finally, the weekend arrived.
Cindy called me Thursday night, her voice bright and warm through the phone. "We're going to the pier tomorrow, Jess! The weather's supposed to be perfect. You have to come — we'll get funnel cakes, ride the Ferris wheel, the whole thing. Say yes!"
I tried to beg off. I claimed homework, exhaustion, a sudden flu. But she wouldn't take no for an answer.
So I did the only thing I could think of to protect myself — I called Ethan.
Ethan Chen. My classmate from back home, the boy who'd followed me to this city for college, who'd been hovering around me all semester with hopeful eyes and Starbucks cups he "happened" to buy extra. He was safe. He was sweet. He was not my brother-in-law.
"Want to come to the pier with my sister and… and Jake?" I'd asked him, hating the tremor in my voice.
He'd said yes too quickly. I could hear the smile through the phone.
And now, walking along the boardwalk with the sun beating down on my shoulders, I'm regretting everything.
The downtown pier is packed — families with strollers, couples holding hands, the smell of cotton candy and fried dough mixing with the salt air from the lake. Ahead of me, Cindy walks with her arm looped through Jake's, her head resting on his shoulder. He's wearing sunglasses and a linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking like he stepped out of a menswear catalog.
He hasn't looked at me once.
Not really.
When we met at the entrance, he'd smiled — polite, distant, brotherly — and said, "Hey, Jess. Good to see you." Then he'd turned back to Cindy, his hand finding the small of her back, his thumb rubbing circles there. The same thumb that had been inside me a week ago.
Now, every time I glance at them, he's touching her. Brushing hair from her face. Whispering in her ear. Kissing her temple.
It's killing me.
"So," Ethan says beside me, adjusting his baseball cap, his smile nervous and eager. "You look really nice today. That dress is… yeah. Pretty."
I'm wearing a sundress — yellow, innocent, bought specifically because it didn't cling too much, didn't show too much skin. I wanted to feel like a normal college girl. Not like the wet, desperate thing I've been all week.
"Thanks, Ethan," I manage, forcing a smile. "You too. The shirt. It's… blue."
God, I'm terrible at this.
He laughs, encouraged, and steps closer. "So, your sister's husband — he's like, a big deal, right? Investment banking? That's intense."
"Yeah," I murmur, watching Jake's hand slide down Cindy's back to rest on her ass. A casual, possessive gesture. The same way he'd gripped mine. "He's… intense."
"And you two get along? He seems cool."
Cool? He fucked me against a window while she bought me medicine.
"We're fine," I say tightly.
Ethan tries to keep the conversation going — asking about my classes, my dorm, if I've tried the new Thai place on campus. I answer in monosyllables, my eyes constantly drifting forward to the couple ahead.
Then Jake turns.
Just for a second. He looks back over his shoulder — sunglasses hiding his eyes, but I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. His eyes drop to my legs, to the way the sundress brushes my knees, then rise slowly back to my face.
My breath catches.
But then Cindy says something, tugging his arm, and he turns away. The moment is gone. Was it even real? Or am I so desperate that I'm imagining things now?
"Jess?" Ethan is looking at me, concerned. "You okay? You're really quiet."
"I'm fine," I lie, pressing my thighs together. I've been wet since I saw Jake at the entrance. Just the smell of his cologne — drifting back on the breeze — has me throbbing. "Just… hot. The sun."
"Want to get some ice cream?" He points toward a stand. "My treat."
"Sure," I say, because I need something to do with my mouth, something to cool the fever in my blood.
We find a bench near the carousel. Ethan returns with two cones — mint chocolate chip for him, strawberry for me. I lick at it mechanically, watching Cindy and Jake across the way. They're looking at the water, his arm around her waist, her hand on his chest.
She looks so happy.
And I'm sitting here, my panties soaked, my heart a stone in my chest, wondering why I can't just want this nice boy who bought me ice cream. Ethan is talking about his internship applications, his voice earnest and hopeful, and I'm nodding while thinking about the way Jake's cock felt splitting me open.
"…and I was thinking," Ethan says, his voice dropping, his knee brushing mine, "maybe after this, we could grab dinner? Just us? There's that Italian place—"
"I can't," I say too quickly. Then, softer: "I mean… I'm not feeling great. Might need to head back early."
His face falls. "Oh. Sure. Yeah, no problem."
Guilt twists in my stomach. He's a good guy. He deserves a girl who'll actually see him, not use him as a shield against her own depravity.
But I can't be that girl.
Not when every nerve in my body is screaming for the man who's currently nuzzling his wife's neck twenty feet away.
The afternoon drags on. We walk the length of the pier, past the arcade and the food trucks. I try to engage with Ethan — I really do. I ask about his classes, his family back home. But my eyes keep finding Jake.
And then, the final torture: Cindy spots the Ferris wheel.
"Oh! We have to!" she squeals, pulling Jake toward the line. "Jess, come on! It's tradition!"
I hesitate, but Ethan is already moving forward, eager to salvage the day. "Yeah, let's do it. It'll be fun."
The line is short. The operator — a bored teenager in a polo shirt — ushers us into the cars. Two per car.
Cindy turns to me, her face flushed with joy. "You guys go ahead — we'll take the next one!"
And before I can protest, she's pulling Jake into a red gondola, the door clanging shut behind them. They sit across from each other — no, he pulls her onto his lap, her legs draped over his, his arms around her waist. The car rises, and I can see them through the glass, kissing as they ascend.
"Jess?"
Ethan is holding the door to the next car open for me. His smile is hopeful, oblivious.
I step inside.
The door locks with a metallic click. The car sways as it lifts off the ground, rocking gently. Ethan sits across from me — the bench is narrow, our knees almost touching. Outside, the city spreads out below, the lake gleaming in the sunset. It should be romantic.
It should be perfect.
But all I can see is the car ahead — higher now, swaying — and the shadow of Jake's head bent over my sister's. All I can feel is the ache between my legs, the emptiness that's been tormenting me for seven days.
"You okay?" Ethan asks, leaning forward, his hand reaching for mine. "You've been weird all day."
"I'm fine," I whisper, pulling my hand away, wrapping my arms around myself.
The car rises higher. The pier gets smaller. We're suspended in the air, trapped in this tiny box, and I'm looking out at the horizon but all I see is Jake's face.
Why?
The question burns in my throat.
Why did he kiss me so gently that last night — my eyelids, my tears — and then walk away? Why did he say "forget this happened" with such finality? Was it guilt? Did he suddenly grow a conscience, realize he couldn't betray Cindy anymore?
Or…
The thought creeps in, cold and slimy, as the Ferris wheel carries us toward the apex.
Or was it me?
Was I too inexperienced? Too clumsy? I'd never done any of those things before — the window, the table, the things he made me say. Maybe I was bad at it. Maybe my pussy wasn't tight enough, or I didn't move right, or I was too emotional, too crying, too much and not enough.
Maybe he fucked me and realized I wasn't worth the trouble.
"Jess?" Ethan says again.
I look at him — really look at him — this sweet boy with his kind eyes and his blue shirt. He's looking at me like I'm something precious. Like I'm something to be won.
And I realize, with a sudden, sickening clarity:
If Jake touched me right now — if he climbed into this car and unzipped his pants — I'd spread my legs for him without a second thought. I'd let him fuck me raw while Ethan watched. I'd beg for it.
I'm not a good sister.
I'm not a good person.
I'm just… hungry.
The car reaches the top of the wheel. The city stretches out below us, golden in the sunset. Ethan reaches for my hand again, and this time, I let him take it, but I feel nothing.
Because ahead of us, in their own private heaven, Jake and Cindy are descending — and I'm alone with my shame, wondering if I'll ever feel full again, or if he's truly done with me.
Wondering which would be worse: being his secret whore, or being nothing to him at all.