Page 118 of Well That Happened

“I’m just saying… she’s small, bro. You’re packingconsiderably with that thing, right?”

Grayson says something I don’t catch, but I’m too tired to engage. I’ll let them sort this out. Their gazes are watchful, appraising. And I feel Caleb bring the cloth to my flesh again. Gently cleaning up whatever mess they made.

I turn my head open one eye. On the bed across from me I see Hunter shove a pillow over his head with a tortured expression on his face.

I didn’t hear him come back.

How long has he been here?

But before I can panic, my eyes fall closed, and I drift off to sleep again.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Rilee

I wake up to the sound of a fork clinking gently against a plate.

The room is too bright, the sheets too warm, and my brain—traitorous as ever—serves up blurry flashes from last night. Heat. Hands. Mouths. Two very large hockey players wrecking me in the best possible ways.

I groan into my pillow.

Nope. Not thinking about it. Not until I’ve brushed my teeth and maybe scrubbed off the lingering memory of being enthusiastically tag-teamed.

Except… there’s a noise again. Someone clearing their throat.

I peek one eye open.

Caleb is sitting on the edge of the bed, hair wet from a shower, legs spread, plate balanced on one knee. He’s got a forkful of eggs paused halfway to his mouth, and his expression is somewhere between sheepish and… guilty?

Grayson is at the window, shirtless, arms crossed, gaze fixed on something very far away. He’s unusually quiet too—no teasing smirk, no heated glances. Just that heavy silence that says everyone’s still replaying things in their heads and wondering what the hell comes next.

I sit up slowly, tugging the sheets around me like they’ll protect me from the awkwardness.

“Morning,” I say, voice scratchy.

Caleb sets down his plate and touches my ankle. “Hey.”

It’s too careful. Too quiet.

I feel my cheeks flush.

Grayson turns, meets my gaze for half a second, and says softly, “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But my voice is small. Like I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be good.

Caleb shifts, bracing his elbows on his knees. “If there was anything last night that wasn’t okay… I need you to tell me.” His voice is low, earnest. “Because I hate the idea that we used you with less care than you deserve.”

My heart twists.

“I was there,” I say. “I wanted it. All of it.”

Grayson’s eyes flick to mine again, unreadable. Then, “Still. We didn’t… talk beforehand. Not really. It just happened.”

“And now everyone’s treating me like I’m made of glass,” I mutter, yanking the sheet tighter. “Can we maybe skip the post-mortem? I’m not gonna fall apart. I’m just… embarrassed. And a little dehydrated.”

That earns the ghost of a smile from Caleb.

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