The first scene of a film is an integral part of its storytelling. It establishes the tone and setting, and introduces the central characters. If intriguing enough, it gives viewers motivation to keep watching.

And as I slowly, quietly walk on the pathway beside the fence that separates Cam’s property line from Maggie’s, I can’t help but compare my situation to the Alfred Hitchcock movie Rear Window.

The story is about a man’s voyeuristic pleasures as he spies on his neighbors. In the opening scene, the camera cuts to the courtyard just outside the main character’s home. Everything appears quiet and normal, each frame showing us only what the director wants us to see—a cat walking up an alleyway, a woman changing in her bedroom, and pigeons on top of a roof.

Quiet.

Normal.

However, among friendly faces, an unfathomable crime has been committed. And yes, that is how I feel right now. Like a crime is about to be committed, and even though I know this, I can’t stop myself from being the one to commit it.

Amelia’s window faces the street. A carport and a bank of trash cans are the only camouflage I have from the cars passing by, and from the possibility that Cam might step out to throw out the garbage, or get something from his Jeep, or worse, check on a noise he swears he might have heard.

Jack Reacher, James Bond, or Ethan Hunt I certainly am not, and yet I find myself carefully approaching her window as if I am.

The light I saw turned on before coming around the fence is hopefully her way of alerting me that she’s in there, and alone.

As a teen growing up in Beverly Hills, I didn’t have to sneak around. My mother was never home, so I came and went right through the front door at all hours of the night. And the girls I went to see, they just let me inside the same way, their parents oblivious to what was going on. If it had been like this, I think I might have kept my dick in my pants more often.

Nerves a wreck.

Adrenaline pumping hard.

All I know is that if I didn’t need to be with her, to have her so goddamn much, I wouldn’t be doing this.

Like a spy right out of a movie, I inch along the side of the house and then turn the corner. At the window I pause, and then quickly jerk my head in front of the glass to look in, before pulling it back.

Relieved she’s in there, alone, I step in front of the window and hope to fuck I don’t scare the ever-living shit out of her when I open it.

I know it’s unlocked because I unlocked it when I used the bathroom outside the bedroom to wash my hands before dinner.

Dinner that felt like nothing but pure torture. Stealing glances with Amelia. Talking to Makayla about the wedding. Telling her about my buddy Chase’s plans for his impending nuptials. Listening to Cam tell me about their weekend in Mexico with my brother, his wife, and their baby, and with each laugh ignoring my attraction to his sister. Hiding the fact that I had every intention of fucking her the minute it got dark.

If that doesn’t already classify me as an asshole, this move right here certainly will. And the fact that I don’t intend for this to be a one-time thing certifies it.

I wanted to tell Cam, but I couldn’t. What exactly would I tell him? Your sister is into me because she craves some of my bad, and I intend to wipe it all over her.

Right!

That would go over really well.

Wouldn’t it?

No, not at all, and so instead, I’m here sneaking around in the dark. It’s my only choice.

I have to.

I can’t explain why.

I just can’t walk away from her, and I can’t tell Cam about us either, not until I know where her head is. What does she want from me? Is this is just a fling that will end when she leaves?

As I slide the window up, Amelia jumps off her bed and rushes toward me. Her hair is up in a high ponytail and she’s changed into a pair of black yoga pants and a white oversized T-shirt that hangs off her shoulder, the straps of her black lacy bra all I can focus on.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, obviously not expecting me to come and get her this way. She doesn’t get it, get that I really want her, and I’ll do things I’ve never done to get her.

“Shhh…go put some shoes on,” I tell her, tearing my eyes from the paleness of her soft skin to hurry her along.

In a rush, she dashes over to her suitcase and pulls out a pair of battered Chucks. I watch her. The excitement in each move she makes. The flush on her face. And I wonder why, if she’s into me, she’s talking to another guy on the phone.

Well, if she wants me, wants some of my bad, she’ll have to understand that I don’t share. Never have. Never will.

There’s this girl that Maggie calls my go-to girl. It’s her way of saying my fuck buddy. Her name is Sasha, and we were on the network at the same time. We’d been fucking around for almost ten years, until I finally ended it for good two months ago.

The rule between us had always been when we were on, there was no one else. And it worked. One of us always calling it off sooner rather than later, we were off more than on. But two months ago we were on, and everything was cool.

Then Keen and Maggie had Presley, and I was spending a lot of time driving to West Hollywood. One night, on my way back, I decided to stop by and see Sasha, and found her with another guy.

When we were off, I never cared who she was with, but we weren’t off, and there was no way I was going to fuck her when she was letting some other guy fuck her too. I told her that and walked away. I have yet to answer a single one of her calls or text messages. As far as I’m concerned, we are over.

Sharing is a hard limit.

Like I said, I don’t share.

Once Amelia has her shoes on, she crosses the room once again. “Now what?”

I’m still outside the window, and I reach my hand out for her. “Come on, we’re going to my place.”

Unabashed, she turns back. “Should I turn my light off?”

“Yeah.”

She scurries over to the door and flicks the light off.

Again at the window, she sits on the ledge. It’s not high, yet I take hold of her and assist her down.

After that I close the window and take her hand. “Follow me, and stay quiet.”

She nods.

I can’t help but smile at her—she’s the perfect accomplice.

The night is dark, the air cold. And we walk close to the house like two robbers casing out their next job. When we get to the corner, I jerk my head around it to make sure the coast is clear.

It is.

Then I look at Amelia. “We’re going to run straight across, and then around the fence. We’ll go in my front door.”

She looks back. “You don’t have to worry. I think Cam and Makayla went to bed. They weren’t in the living room when I went to check.”

“Okay, that’s good,” I whisper, hating this, hating the deceit.

This is so not a good idea.

Not in the least.

And yet, with her hand in mind, I don’t turn around and bring her back to her room. Instead, I jet across the grass to Maggie’s property and don’t plan on stopping until I have Amelia inside my front door and up the stairs into my room.

Where we can be alone.

Unseen.

To do what her brother will ultimately hate me for.

I’m so going to hell.