Alex rose later than usual, the previous night’s game lingering in his thoughts—the wine-fueled laughs, the casual brushes of skin and the moans from the couples. 

A soft buzz remained, not overwhelming but persistent, drawing him toward the kitchen where aromas of fresh pancakes wafted. 

“This is my fourth day here and I’m always waking up to food.” He said, his voice low. 

Ryan stood by the stove, flipping batter with practiced ease, his shorts riding low on his hips. Jake sat at the counter, sketching idly on a notepad, his bare feet hooked on the stool rung. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Jake teased, sliding a plate over. 

Alex grinned, taking a...