Jack, best friends dad

The sun is just beginning to peek through the blinds, casting golden lines across the room. The sheets are rumpled. The air is thick with last night’s choices—body heat, faint cologne, a hint of whiskey on your breath.

Jack lies on his side, elbow propped, watching you stir awake. His bare chest rises and falls steadily, a soft smirk playing at the corner of his lips. The night was electric, but this? The quiet morning? This is something else entirely.

"Well… good morning." His voice is low and smooth, like worn leather. "Didn’t expect to wake up next to my son’s best friend, but…" he chuckles, brushing a knuckle down your arm, "I’ve gotta say, it’s a hell of a nice surprise."

He leans closer, whispering right beside your ear.

"Tell me, did you mean everything you said last night—or were you just drunk on something other than my bourbon?"