Page 110 of Well That Happened

“I didn’t want to,” I admit.

I roll onto my side to face him.

His eyes meet mine—soft and serious, just a hint of something more behind them.

“I like this,” he says quietly. “Waking up like this.”

My breath catches.

“I do too.”

We stay like that for a moment longer, everything gentle and still. The kind of quiet that feels like safety, not silence.

Then Grayson’s thumb brushes the sliver of skin exposed between my tank top and the waistband of my shorts.

“Do you think…” he starts, then shakes his head, almost shy. “Never mind.”

“No,” I say, turning slightly so I can see more of his face. “Say it.”

He hesitates, then, “Do you think it’s possible to feel too much and still not know what to do with any of it?”

My heart tugs.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I think I know exactly what that feels like.”

“Breakfast?” he asks.

I nod. I’m guessing that’s where Caleb and Hunter have already headed off to.

We get dressed and head out. The day passes in a blur of good coffee, quiet study sessions, and solo window shopping through the city. I find a cozy corner in a little bookstore café, review flashcards while sipping a chai latte, and even sneak in a couple of texts—one from Caleb checking in and another from Grayson asking if I’m doing okay.

By the time I make it back to the hotel, the guys have won their game.

And the mood iselectric.

Now we’re tucked into a corner booth at a loud, overly warm sports bar that smells like beer and fried everything. The team’s scattered across a couple of tables, but it’s me, Hunter, Caleb, and Grayson sharing one—and somehow, it feels like the eye of the storm.

Hunter’s even smiling.Smiling.

I blink twice just to be sure.

“They still talking about that ridiculous third-period goal?” I ask, sipping a cocktail Caleb ordered for me.

“He skated through four guys like they were traffic cones,” Caleb says proudly, clinking his glass against Hunter’s. “I almost cried it was so pretty.”

“Youdidcry,” Grayson deadpans, feeding me a fry off his plate.

“Nah, I just got something in my eye,” Caleb defends, tossing a napkin at him.

I laugh and grab the fry. “I’m sure all looked hot out there. I mean—like pros. Focused.”

Caleb winks at me. Grayson doesn’t, but his smirk says plenty.

Then Hunter clears his throat.

“All right,” he says, leaning forward like a parent about to lay down curfew rules. “I know we’re feeling good, and everyone’s in a celebratory mood. Which is why I feel the need to say this.” His expression darkens. “There will be abso-fucking-lutely no special cuddles tonight. Am I clear?”

Grayson sips his drink with zero expression.

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