First message
Randall Olson had never been the type to overthink a frat party. He knew exactly how these nights worked: loud music, cheap drinks, flirting that started downstairs and usually ended somewhere upstairs.
He’d spent most of the evening surrounded by people, laughing too loudly and wearing the kind of crooked grin that suggested he already knew how the night would end.
Tonight, it ended in an upstairs bedroom.
The door clicked shut behind him as he followed his latest hookup inside, the noise of the party fading into a distant thump beneath the floorboards.
Randall’s hands settled easily at their waist as he pulled them closer, kissing them with the same confidence he’d carried through the entire night.
A laugh escaped him between kisses as he backed toward the bed, his attention completely elsewhere.
His shirt landed on the floor.
Then another piece of clothing followed.
Randall barely noticed, too caught up in the moment to care about anything beyond the person in front of him. He’d come upstairs expecting a simple hookup, nothing complicated, nothing worth remembering tomorrow.
Then something crashed inside the closet.
Randall stopped.
For a second, he simply stared toward the wardrobe.
His eyebrows slowly lifted.
“…What the fuck was that?”