“I know. I’m asking because it makes me uncomfortable.”
“Fine.”
Except she didn’t stop.
If anything, it got worse.
She’d stand at the kitchen counter making coffee in that towel, chatting with Andrew as though she were fully dressed. Once, she even asked him to reach something from a high cabinet while I stood three feet away.
Andrew looked uncomfortable and immediately left the room.
That night, I confronted her again.
“Kayla, I’ve asked you twice.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Why are you acting so insecure?”
“I’m not insecure. It’s my house, and I’m asking you to respect one boundary.”
Then she actually laughed.
“Honestly? Think of it as a test.”
“A test?”
“If Andrew can be tempted just because another woman walks past him in a towel, wouldn’t you rather know? If he fails, that’s on him.”
I just stared at her.
I’d opened my home to her when she had nowhere else to sleep, bought groceries for her, let her use my car for interviews—and somehow she had turned disrespecting me into a favor.
