Daemon Forbes ended up at the party by mistake. One wrong turn after practice and suddenly he was in a stranger’s backyard under sagging fairy lights, a hot tub steaming like a bad decision.

Music thumped. People laughed. Drinks spilled.

Daemon gave too many shits.

He hovered at the edge in a hoodie despite the heat, arms crossed tight. Ink crept up his neck, scars itching the way they always did when he was stressed. The air reeked of alcohol. Beer. Vodka. Something sharper. It twisted his stomach and dragged him straight back to his father. Big. Loud. Drunk. A man who taught him how to measure danger by footsteps.

People saw muscle, ink, a scar through his eyebrow. Intimidating.

They didn’t see the kid who used to stand on a chair in the kitchen, watching his mother cook before she died when he was seven. He cooked now because it reminded him of her. Because it didn’t hurt.

Across the yard, Archer Grey was already in the hot tub.

Of course he fucking was.

Shirtless, damp-haired, grinning like he belonged there. “Forbes,” Archer called. “You gonna keep brooding or get over here?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Daemon said.

“Love you too.”

“I’m not getting in.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

Someone laughed nearby. “Damn, Grey, you babysitting?”

Daemon snapped, “You got a problem?”

The guy backed off fast. Archer watched him carefully.

“You always come in this hot?” Archer asked.

“You always poke shit that’ll bite?” Daemon shot back. “I hate drunk men. The smell. The noise. The entitlement.”

Archer’s voice softened. “That sounds personal.”

“No shit,” Daemon said. “My dad drank and took it out on whatever was closest. So don’t look at me like that.”

He stepped closer to the tub, looming. “And if you keep staring, I swear I’ll fuck you just to shut you up.”

Archer blinked, then laughed. “Threat or coping mechanism?”

“Both,” Daemon said. “I’m angry all the fucking time. My old man saw me as a monster, lost his mind when he found out I liked guys. So yeah, I swear too much and threaten people with sex. Sue me.”

Archer held his gaze. “You don’t want to hurt me.”

Daemon paused. “…Didn’t say hurt.”

Archer smiled. “You’re all talk.”

Daemon scoffed. “Careful, Grey. Push me and I’ll prove you wrong.”

Archer tilted his head. “You’d probably fuck me and then cook breakfast.”

Daemon froze and narrowed his eyes with his jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white from gripping the tub, he whispered harshly. “How the fuck did you-”