Page 4 of Well That Happened

He shook his head. “Psych. But I dated someone who carried that exact set of flashcards. Different color. Same panic.”

Then he smiled—full wattage, all dimples and warmth—and my stomach did a thing.

That was the first moment I really noticed him. Noticed the way he carried himself: relaxed, but not lazy; present, but not overbearing. I noticed howtallhe was and how his voice dipped low when he said my name a few minutes later.

There was no instant swoon. No thunderclap.

Just… curiosity.

And a tug in my chest that said,Pay attention to this one.

By the time we reach my building, my cheeks are flushed for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold.

“Well,” I say, stopping at the stoop. “This is me.”

Caleb doesn’t move. He just stands there, tall and solid in the glow of the streetlight, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie like he has all the time in the world. He’s got this calm, unbothered, hot guy energy that’s making it really hard to think.

Instead, he says, “You okay?”

I blink. “What?”

“You looked… tired. Like more than just school tired.”

I let out a slow breath. “Yeah. It’s been a week. Month. Year. Pick your timeline.”

He nods once, like he gets it. And maybe he does. Student athletes are well-versed in exhausting schedules. “Want company?” His voice is low, warm.

My brain short-circuits.

But my body answers for me.

I nod.

Inside, the apartment is dim and smells faintly like mildew. My bathroom ceiling’s been dripping since Tuesday, and the maintenance request form is probably being used as a coaster in someone’s office.

I kick off my boots, set my purse down, and turn to say something—what, I have no idea—when Caleb shuts the door and steps into my space.

His eyes search mine like he’s checking for signs of hesitation. But all he finds is heat.

I close the distance first.

We crash together in the dark—mouths hot, hands fast. He kisses like he’s been waiting all night, like hemeant itwhen he said I was beautiful.

I gasp as he lifts me onto the arm of the couch, his hands gripping my thighs. My fingers sink beneath the hem of his hoodie, finding warm skin underneath.

“You sure?” he murmurs against my neck.

“God, yes.”

He smiles and tucks one strand of dark hair behind my ear. And then, we’re moving.

He carries me to the bedroom, and I’m already losing articles of clothing along the way. My sweater hits the floor. His hoodie follows. It’s messy, breathless, and long overdue.

He lays me back on the bed like I’m made of something breakable and precious—then immediately slides down, his lips on my stomach, his eyes locked on mine. He pulls my leggings and panties down and gazes up at me as if to check in. I bite my lip and nod.

His mouth is warm, patient. My hands find the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. Every nerve in my body is tuned to him, the heat building so fast it feels almost unbearable.

And for the first time in… I don’t even know how long, I let myself have this. A hot, stolen moment. No pressure, no expectations. Just a damn good thing that feelsso good.

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