Good news: he didn't realize the panties were mine. Bad news: he thought I had a bizarre fetish for collecting women's underwear!
Oh, how I wished I could find a plausible excuse on the spot!
Owen, ever practical, spared me further embarrassment. "Starting tomorrow, we're going on a business trip."
With a few quick coughs to mask his discomfort, he made a hasty exit.
I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of the usually composed CEO fleeing over a pair of panties. Who would've thought the stern, aloof boss would be so easily flustered?
Living with Owen revealed surprises daily. In public, he was icy and intimidating, but at home, he could be as clingy as a puppy. With no awkwardness about gender boundaries, he grew more comfortable and less reserved around me.
Our male friendship was seriously perplexing. Owen didn't hesitate to share a bottle of water with me, waltz into my room without knocking, or lounge around in just his boxers and a towel post-shower. He even draped himself over me like a boneless cat and sometimes asked me to feel his progress at the gym.
As if I'd be swayed by such minor privileges.