Your fault

"Don't give me that look," said Cezar, arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. "You're the one who said my girlfriend was out of shape."

"Dude, first of all... you never mentioned your girlfriend was, I don't know, some kind of goth witch with a PhD in black magic!" Sam retorted, flustered. "And second, I only said that over text! It wasn’t even that bad!"

Cezar shrugged, as if he'd been counting down to this moment.

"Well, tough luck. She happened to be sitting right next to me when the message popped up. Read the whole thing—didn't skip a single word. She was furious. Said you needed to learn a lesson… a lesson your 'jacked gym body' would never understand. Would have understood, I should say. Because now..."

Sam stood frozen in the doorway, unsure where to look—or where his dignity had gone. He was wearing an outrageously sexy lingerie set: black lace, bold cutouts, thigh-high stockings with garter straps, the whole deal.

"...She left me like this," Sam muttered, staring down at himself in disbelief. "Man, I swear to you, I don’t see any beauty in this female body. Especially dressed like this! It’s like... a nightmare wrapped in lace and ribbons."

Cezar raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself more than he should.

"Honestly? I think you look stunning. She has a matching set, and let me tell you, it's scandalous. But seeing you like this... I don't know, man. I think her revenge was way more brilliant than I gave her credit for."

"Cut it out, Cezar!" Sam grumbled, trying to cover himself with his arms.

"Relax! If I weren’t already taken, I might even ask you out to dinner. But of course, I’d lend you a jacket or maybe a nice little dress first. I mean, let’s be real—you’re dressed for something very different from a casual night out."

Sam let out a long, defeated sigh.

"This can’t be happening..."

"Oh, it’s happening," Cezar said, grinning. "And the worst part? You haven’t even seen the high heels she picked out for you to wear tonight."