Wake up

John groaned as his alarm blared, rolling out of bed in his sweat-stained Star Wars pajamas. His bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor just as a sharp knock rattled his bedroom door.

"Johnny-boy, hurry the fuck up!" Megan's voice cut through the wood, her acrylic nails probably tapping impatiently against the frame. "Some of us have shit to do before class."

He scrambled for his towel, nearly tripping over a pile of dirty boxers. The hallway smelled like Megan's vanilla body spray and burnt toast—typical Monday morning. Just as he reached for the bathroom doorknob, it swung open violently.

Sarah stood there in nothing but a pink sports bra and tiny running shorts, her toned thighs glistening with post-shower droplets. "Oh! Sorry, dork," she laughed, ruffling his bedhead while squeezing past. Her damp ponytail flicked water onto his glasses.

The bathroom was a sauna of floral-scented steam. Megan's thong hung over the shower rod—black lace, still damp. John's face burned as he accidentally kicked a bottle of her strawberry lube under the sink.

"Five minutes, loser," Megan barked from down the hall, her platform sandals clacking against the stairs. "And quit jerking off in there—Mom paid the water bill, not your crusty sock collection."