Page 39 of Well That Happened

Sleep?

Yeah, no chance in hell that’s happening.

I cross to the nightstand, yank open the drawer, and fumble until I find it—my not-so-secret weapon.

Small. Quiet. Purple.

I fall back on the bed, still half-dressed, still breathing hard, andpress.Push the toy under my shorts and panties. My eyes flutter closed, and my mind races with flashes of that kiss—his mouth, his hands, the quiet control in the way he touched me like I was breakableanddangerous.

I bite my lip.

And let myself come fast, too fast, biting down a moan I don’t have the nerve to say out loud.

After, I lie there in the dark, body humming, chest heaving.

But I don’t feel better.

If anything… I feelmore.

And I hate how much of that kiss I’m still carrying.

Mornings in the hockey house are a chaotic mix of testosterone, coffee, and arguments over protein powder.

Normally, I can handle it.

Today?

I want to crawl into the HVAC system and die there.

Grayson’s already in the kitchen when I shuffle in, still dressed in pajamas, my eyes glued to the floor like I’m avoiding sniper fire.

He’s at the stove, flipping eggs with absurd calm. Shirtless. Again. Like last night didn’t happen.

Like he didn’t kiss me like he meant it. Like my entire nervous system didn’t detonate in his hands.

“Morning,” Caleb says cheerfully from the table, sipping coffee and scrolling his phone. “You’re up early. Big clinical day?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

Grayson glances over.

I flinch.

Caleb notices.

His brow furrows just a little. “You okay?”

“Totally fine,” I lie. “Why?”

Hunter stomps in next, already wearing a scowl and no shirt because apparently clothing is optional around here. He beelines for the fridge and mutters something about someone stealing his leftovers.

No one answers.

He slams the door closed harder than necessary.

Grayson plates the eggs, drops two slices of toast next to them, and slides the plate to the end of the counter. “If you’re hungry.”

I freeze.

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