The knock came at 7:12 p.m., sharp enough to cut through the low thrum of Alex's playlist. He muted the sound, wiped graphite smudges from his fingers onto his jeans, and padded barefoot to the front door. Through the peephole he saw only a spill of blonde hair and the curve of a shoulder in a white crop top. He opened the door a cautious six inches.
"Hi!" The woman on the porch beamed like she'd been expecting him to answer shirtless. "You're Alex, right? I'm Mia. Two streets over, the yellow duplex with the busted AC?" She tilted her head, waves of sun-bleached hair sliding over one collarbone. The crop top—thin, ribbed, merciless—clung to breasts so full the fabric looked painted on. "Mind if we crash here tonight? Repair guy can't come till morning, and it's ninety-two in there. My roommates are melting."
Alex's brain supplied the word *we* a half-second too late. Behind Mia, three more women crowded the porch steps, each carrying an overnight bag and a smile that felt rehearsed for a camera that wasn't there.
Lena stepped forward first: black hair in a messy knot, green eyes sharp enough to slice bread, tank top the color of midnight doing heroic work.
Sasha followed, red curls bouncing, freckles scattered across the plunging neckline of a teal sundress that ended mid-thigh.
Talia brought up the rear, brunette, olive-skinned, silk blouse unbuttoned one strategic button too far, revealing the scalloped edge of plum lace.
All four looked at Alex like he was the last functioning air conditioner on the continent.
He cleared his throat. "I, uh… only have the one couch."
Mia's laugh was warm, low, the kind that settled in the spine. "We'll improvise." She was already across the threshold, overnight bag swinging against her hip. The others flowed in behind her, a tide of perfume—vanilla, coconut, something darker—and the soft rustle of fabric brushing skin.
Alex closed the door. The click sounded final.
They moved like they'd memorized the floor plan. Mia dropped her bag by the couch and stretched, arms overhead, crop top riding high enough to reveal the soft undercurve of her breasts. Lena kicked off her sandals and padded to the kitchen, opening the fridge without asking. Sasha claimed the armchair, legs folded beneath her, sundress pooling like liquid. Talia lingered in the hallway, studying the framed concert posters Alex had hung freshman year.
"Nice place," Talia said, voice smooth as the silk sliding over her shoulders. "Quiet."
"It was," Alex muttered.
Lena reappeared with four bottles of sparkling water, condensation dripping down the glass. She handed one to Alex, fingers brushing his. "You always this hospitable, or are we special?"
He took a long drink to buy time. The carbonation burned. "First time four strangers have asked to sleep over."
"Strangers?" Mia flopped onto the couch, breasts bouncing once, settling. "We're practically neighbors. And we brought snacks." She unzipped her bag and produced a family-size bag of sour gummy worms. "Peace offering."
Sasha leaned forward, elbows on knees, cleavage deepening. "We also brought wine, but that's for later. After we've earned it."
Alex's pulse thudded in his ears. He set the water down before he dropped it. "I've got spaghetti fixings. If you're hungry."
Four pairs of eyes lit up.
"Feed us," Lena said, "and we'll love you forever."
The kitchen was too small for five people, but no one seemed to mind. Mia perched on the counter, legs swinging, watching Alex fill a pot with water. Sasha chopped garlic with surprising precision, humming under her breath. Talia leaned over the island, blouse gaping just enough to make Alex forget the difference between basil and oregano. Lena stood behind him at the stove, close enough that every time he turned, her breasts brushed his back.
"You're tense," she murmured, breath warm against his ear. "Relax. We don't bite." A pause. "Unless you ask nicely."
The water boiled over. Alex swore under his breath and yanked the pot off the burner. Steam curled between them like a secret.
Dinner was chaos and laughter. They ate cross-legged on the living room floor because the table only seated four. Mia fed him a forkful of pasta from her plate, eyes locked on his mouth. Sasha licked sauce from her thumb slow enough to qualify as performance art. Talia's foot found his under the coffee table, bare toes tracing the arch of his instep.
By ten, the dishes were abandoned in the sink. Someone—Sasha—found the basement door and squealed at the gaming setup. The women migrated downstairs, wine glasses in hand, leaving Alex to follow like a man walking into his own dream.
The sectional was wide enough for three, maybe four if they squeezed. They squeezed. Mia ended up in the middle, Sasha and Lena flanking her, Talia draped over the armrest. Alex took the single chair, controller in his lap like a shield.
"Play something," Mia said, patting the cushion beside her. "Show us what you've got."
He loaded a co-op shooter out of habit. The opening cinematic rolled. No one watched the screen.
Sasha's hand landed on his knee. "You're warm," she said, as if discovering fire. Her fingers traced lazy circles, inching higher. Lena leaned across Mia to pluck the second controller from the coffee table, breasts pressing soft against Mia's arm. Talia watched Alex with half-lidded eyes, lips parted.
The game's menu music looped. Alex's thumb hovered over *Start*, unmoving.
Mia's voice was velvet. "Or we could play something else."
The controller slipped from his fingers and clattered to the rug.
Outside, the street was quiet. Inside, the air thickened with heat and possibility, and Alex realized the house on Elm Street had already changed hands.
It just hadn't bothered to tell him yet.