Every single cupboard is open. The fridge is crammed full. Beers, snacks, fresh produce, five different types of milk, a mountain of cereal, and a larder that looks like it belongs to a doomsday prepper. There’s even a rotating spice rack that definitely wasn’t there this morning.
“What the hell did you do?” I ask, scrubbing a hand through my hair.
Chace tosses me a grin. “Restocked. You’re welcome.”
Trey’s perched on the counter, legs swinging, casually holding a six-pack. “We figured you two might want a full fridge and not just expired mustard and one sad apple.”
“And she didn’t have any protein,” Sam adds with a deadly serious look, holding up a tub the size of a toddler. “This is a crisis.”
I chuckle under my breath and help them pack the last of it away. The kitchen hums with easy noise—cabinets closing, beer cracking, paper bags rustling. It’s chaos, but the welcome kind.
Once everything’s put away, we migrate to the lounge like it’s muscle memory. Beers in hand, shoes kicked off, bodies dropped into the couch cushions like we own the place. The overhead light is low, the room warm and worn, the way only old houses can be.
“So,” Trey starts, eyes glinting with mischief. “Wanna see the video that nearly got me murdered?”
Sam groans from the armchair. “Don’t.”
Trey’s already pulling out his phone.
“Bro,” I warn, laughing. “You sure you wanna relive your funeral?”
“Oh, I’m very sure.” He pulls up the clip, spins the phone toward me. “Observe.”
Sam’s face goes white.
It’s cinematic. Perfectly timed.
By the time the video ends, I’m crying.
“Dude,” I wheeze, wiping my eyes. “You’re gonna die young, and it’s gonna be your own damned fault.”
“Worth it,” Trey smirks, lifting his beer.
Sam flips him off but there’s a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Caught you in the stalls though didn’t I, buddy, coulda given you a swirly.”
It’s all laughter and cheap beer and comfortable silence between jabs.
Still, as the conversation flows around me, my thoughts drift back to the bedroom. To the girl curled beneath the sheets, lips parted in sleep, still tangled in the after of us.
Sometime later, a soft shuffle behind me makes my chest tighten in the best way.
I glance toward the hallway just as she appears—Mac, rubbing sleep from her eyes, one of my old tees hanging off one shoulder, her bare legs peeking out from beneath the hem. Her hair’s a sexy, sleepy mess, and she looks so goddamn beautiful it knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Hey,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
The whole room stills for a second, like the air shifts when she enters it.
I stand up instantly, crossing the room in a few long strides. “You looked too peaceful,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Didn’t want to ruin it.”
She leans into me, wrapping her arms around my waist and tucking her face against my chest. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mumbles.
Behind me, Chace whistles. “Well, well. Sleeping beauty lives.”
Mac peeks out over my shoulder and narrows her eyes playfully. “You all break in and raid my kitchen without saying hi?”
“Correction,” Chace pipes up, holding up his hands in surrender, “We broke in and filled your fridge and cupboards. You’re welcome.”
Trey grins wide. “You’re welcome for the tub of cookie dough, too. I nearly lost a hand fighting off Chace for it.”
