XX3

The hope for a round of morning heat vanished the second Kol Reyes blinked his eyes open at 7:00 a.m. to find the star athlete dead to the world beside him. His skull throbbed with the rhythmic ghost of last night's bass, and a wave of immediate post-hookup regret washed over him. He needed to vanish before the silence of the room became an interrogation.

As he scrambled into his clothes from the night before, Kol pointedly avoided looking at the sleeping figure. He was a straight-A student in the Food Technology department who spent his Friday nights analyzing enzyme reactions, not a guy who got hazy on jungle juice and went home with strangers. Or, apparently, he was exactly that guy now.

He shouldn't feel this hollow. He’d sought a distraction and found a world-class one. He didn't have the emotional bandwidth for a boyfriend, and while his Aunt Lucia Reyes had raised him with firm, traditional values regarding intimacy, Kol knew he was a grown man with needs. Still, the clinical sunlight of an Austin morning made his impulsive choices feel reckless. If the university found out the quiet scholarship student was tumbling into bed with the hockey captain, the judgment would be suffocating.

Grabbing his bag by the door, he froze. Heavy shuffling sounded from the hallway. He panicked—was it a roommate? The last thing Kol wanted was to be introduced to a witness who had likely heard everything through the walls.

He slipped out the front door, closing it with the stealth of a thief. He was barely on the sidewalk of the Alvarez Residence when the door creaked open again. Kol ducked behind a thick oak tree, watching as a girl with long, dark hair—Isabella Alvarez—marched out to a car in the driveway, muttering under her breath. He squinted, trying to make out her face, but without his glasses, she was just a blur of frustration. Once she moved the car to the street and retreated inside, Kol bolted.

The trek back to the Riverside Duplex took him through the heart of the campus. He felt like a walking scandal in his rumpled party clothes, ducking his head and letting his curls hide his face. He felt branded, sure that every early-rising student knew exactly which bed he’d just crawled out of.

When he finally burst into his apartment, Valeria Cruz was waiting. She popped up from the sofa, her hair a bird’s nest that suggested she’d spent the night standing guard.

"Spill it! Every. Single. Detail!" she shrieked, clapping.

Kol winced, pressing a palm to his aching temple. "Caffeine first. Enthusiasm later."

"On it." Valeria disappeared into the kitchen while Kol collapsed onto the couch, kicking off his boots.

"Why were you on the sofa?" he called out.

"Waiting to see if I needed to file a missing person's report," she said, returning with two steaming mugs. "But I saw your GPS was stationary at the 'Alvarez Palace,' so I figured you were just... occupied."

Kol stared into the black coffee, wishing it could drown his mounting embarrassment. "I should have messaged you."

"Are you kidding? You were living! And I knew exactly where you were if things got weird." She leaned in, eyes dancing. "So? Was the Captain as good on the sheets as he is on the ice?"

"It was... adequate," Kol said, trying to be dismissive.

"Liar. You’re literally glowing."

"I am not glowing. I’m hungover," Kol snapped defensively. "I don’t even know the guy’s middle name, Valeria. I never want to see him again. If our paths cross, I will simply cease to exist from shame."

"Why?" Valeria reached out, her sharp tongue softening for a moment. "Two handsome, consenting adults had a blast. Did you enjoy yourself, Kol?"

"Yes," he admitted quietly. "He was... intense. In a good way."

"Then there's no crime. You’re allowed to have a life outside of legumes and lab reports. Maybe this will finally get you to relax."

Kol checked the time and jolted upright. "Crap! I’m going to be late for the kids."

He sprinted to his room, swapping the party gear for leggings and a light cardigan over his dance leotard. Saturdays were his sanctuary. While his academic focus was Food Tech, he was gunning for a prestigious graduate fellowship that required a "well-rounded" profile.

He had danced since he was a pup, but when his family’s finances tightened, his Aunt Lucia couldn't keep up with the fees. That struggle had inspired him to partner with the Sunrise Dance Studio to lead a weekend program for underprivileged youth. He volunteered his time as the instructor, providing free lessons to kids who otherwise would never step foot on a professional floor.

He arrived fifteen minutes early, greeting the parents outside. Their gratitude always made him flush, but he meant it when he told them it was the highlight of his week.

"Good morning, Mr. Reyes!" the children cheered as they piled into the studio.

"Morning, team!" Kol beamed, the shame of the morning finally starting to evaporate. "Let’s find our space and start the stretch. Feel the music, don't just fight it."

He led them through the warm-up, focusing on the fluid, athletic movements of contemporary ballet. In this room, he wasn't a hungover student or a one-night stand. He was a teacher. He was in control.