Page 141 of Well That Happened

I open my mouth to argue. Or laugh. Orsomething.

But he’s already crossed the room and is pulling back the comforter like hemeans it.

“You don’t have to—”

Grayson kisses my forehead. Soft. Steady. Devastating.

“Sleep well,” he murmurs. Then walks out without another word.

I sit there—fully clothed, blanket halfway over me, brain short-circuiting—when from the living room I hear it.

“What thefuckis happening,” Fletcher growls. “Do they take turns? Is this alineup?”

“No one’s touching her,” Hunter calls back. “Relax.”

“I watched three dudes walk into her room.”

“They’re being nice,” Caleb yells. “It’s cozy here.”

“Oh,my God.”

I bury my face in my hands.

Because here’s the worst part.

I’m not mad.

Ilikedit.

Every single kiss. Every voice. Every bit of attention wrapped in care disguised as chaos.

I’m dazed and flushed and more than a little horrified with myself.

Because I can’t stop asking one very inconvenient question—What iswrongwith me?

Chapter Forty

Rilee

Fletcher’s gone.

His Uber barely clears the curb before we’re all standing in the living room like recently released hostages, blinking into the silence.

“Well,” Caleb says, stretching like he just finished a ten-day prison stint. “That was fun for absolutely no one.”

Hunter flops onto the couch like he’s been holding his breath for three days straight. “I think I aged like six years.”

Grayson doesn’t speak. Just sinks into the armchair with a sigh and shuts his eyes like his soul needs a reboot.

And me?

I’m standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, staring at them all.

Then—without saying anything—I walk over to Hunter.

He looks up. “What—?”

I kiss him.

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