Inside the apartment, Micah stared at the chaos, clothes scattered all over the floor. A pair of thigh-high socks hung halfway off the couch, and the jean skirt from last night was sitting crumpled right by the door like evidence left at a crime scene.
He scratched his cheek and let out a chuckle. "Oh man," he muttered. "If he saw this, how could I explain it? My sister changes clothes in the middle of the living room?! Won't he think we are a bunch of perverts?! Or worse he'll suspect I was crossdressing?!"
Shaking his head, Micah crouched down and hurriedly scooped up everything into his arms, the skirt, the baggy t-shirt and those horrible breast pads. He stuffed them into the nearest closet with zero ceremony and shoved the door shut with his hip. He kicked the flat shoes under the couch, grabbed his bag from the table, and checked the room quickly to make sure nothing else betrayed his last night's crossdressing.
