Page 107 of Well That Happened

Eventually, we rotate through—brushing, changing, shifting bags around to make space. Negotiating pillow usage. Apparently, Caleb sleeps with three?

I change in the bathroom, into soft sleep shorts and a cropped tank. When I emerge, Caleb’s already shirtless in bed, arms folded behind his head like he’s posing for a thirst trap calendar. Grayson’s in sweats and a faded tee, lounging against the headboard of the other bed with a book in hand.

Hunter’s taken the chair. Naturally.

“Okay,” I say, eyeing the two beds. “How are we doing this?”

Caleb pats the space beside him. “Room for two.”

Grayson glances up from his book. “You can take mine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No one’s sleeping on the floor,” I say. “You’ll wake up with spinal injuries.”

Hunter grunts from the chair. “I’m fine here.”

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, crawling into the bed beside Caleb. “We’re adults.”

Immediately, Caleb throws an arm around me and grins like a satisfied cat.

Grayson watches for a beat longer, then finally sets his book down and joins us on the opposite edge.

The bed is way too small.

We are way too many bodies.

And no one seems to mind.

“Alright,” I say, flopping back between them. “No spooning wars.”

“No promises,” Caleb mumbles into my hair.

“I didn’t sign a treaty,” Grayson adds, voice low.

Caleb tightens his arm around me possessively.

Grayson’s hand finds my knee beneath the covers.

I exhale, staring up at the ceiling.

Yeah. This is going to be averylong night.

“Hunter, get in the damn bed,” Caleb barks toward the chair.

There’s a long pause, followed by a dramatic, deeply irritated sigh. Then the creak of the chair, the rustle of blankets, and the sharpclickof the lights going out.

Darkness settles over the room like a thick, charged blanket.

“What time’s the game tomorrow?” I ask softly into the dark.

“Bus leaves at nine,” Grayson murmurs from my right.

“Breakfast starts at seven,” Caleb adds from my left, voice close. Too close.

I feel his breath at the shell of my ear. Then his palm, warm and slow, gliding up from my hip to my waist under the covers. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just…curious.

His hand rests there for a moment, fingers brushing the hem of my sleep shorts.

“Okay?” he whispers.

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