Page 17 of Well That Happened

I grab a handful and toss a piece at his head. “Fine. But I’m not doing dishes if anyone dies from consuming that burnt toast.”

Hunter turns back to the stove with a muttered curse.

Grayson finally moves, sliding past me without a sound. The brush of his arm as he walks by is brief, but electric. Like static under skin.

The rules are ridiculous. The house is chaos.

But maybe, at least for now… it’s the kind I can live with.

Am I still mildly annoyed at Hunter’s rules? Yes.

But my first class starts in forty-five minutes, my hair is a war crime, and if I don’t make it to the hospital lab for scrubs pickup, I’ll have to wear the ketchup-stained pair from last week.

So I grab my toiletry bag and make a beeline for the hall bathroom—only to find the door wide open and the lights still on.

“Please be empty,” I mutter, stepping inside.

The mirror’s fogged. The air smells like shampoo and expensive man soap. And on the edge of the sink—

I freeze.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

There, proudly occupying the corner of the counter, is a fleshlight. Pink. Slick. Clearly just washed. Drying.

I gape at it. Like if I stare long enough, it’ll apologize and vanish.

It does not.

Instead, it just… sits there. Staring at me like a silicone accusation.

“Oh myGod,” I whisper, horrified and vaguely fascinated.

I reach for a washcloth to cover it—just as Caleb steps into the doorway behind me, towel slung low on his hips, hair dripping, looking completely unconcerned.

“Oh,” he says, blinking at the scene. “Right. That’s mine.”

I whip around. “You left it out?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I had to clean it. Set it there to dry.”

The thought of Caleb using this on himself is… unspeakably hot. I remember how large and eager he felt during our failed hookup.

Still, I cock an eyebrow at him. “Youair-driedit in a shared bathroom?”

“Would you prefer I blow-dried it?” His mouth twitches.

“I would prefer itnever existedin the same breathing space as my toothbrush.”

A low whistle cuts through the hallway. I glance past Caleb to see Hunter, still shirtless and scowling, toweling off his hair.

“What now?” he asks, then follows my glare to the sink.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—Caleb, again?”

“Look,” Caleb says, hands up. “She wasn’t supposed to see it.”

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