The pizza box sat open between them on the living room floor like an offering. No plates, no napkins—just three bodies arranged in a loose triangle, knees brushing, heat already building where skin met skin. The movie had long since been muted; the only soundtrack now was rain drumming the windows and the occasional soft suck of lips on greasy fingers.
Maya sat cross-legged in her tank top and panties, legs spread just enough that the cotton pulled tight against her. Lena mirrored her on the left, boy shorts riding up her thighs, cropped tee discarded somewhere behind the couch. Alex had ended up opposite them, still in his damp pants and undershirt, the soaked uniform top drying in a heap by the door. His bare arms flexed every time he reached for another slice.
Crumbs tumbled. A string
