The party was extra that night. Extra loud, extra drunk, extra naked. The music blared, swimmers hurled themselves into the water bathing suit–free, and someone had brought a keg. Perhaps it was that they only had three nights left before the guests arrived, or perhaps it was that they were all getting to know each other better, but whatever it was, the cabin vibrated with a near-manic hum of lust and urgency.

Caleb hadn’t left his side since dinner, and Archer was still enjoying the attention. And the guy, while maybe a little too self-assured, was funny and extremely charming and displayed occasional glimpses of unexpected layers. They were lounging on the couch, swapping audition horror stories, slightly buzzed and nearly yelling over the music and ruckus from the group playing beer pong.

“Can you sing?” Caleb asked, leaning so close his breath brushed Archer’s cheek.

“Yeah.” Archer shrugged. “I did some musical theater stuff in Dayton.”

“I went to an audition once that didn’t say anything about it in the ad, then I got there and they wanted me to sing!” Caleb laughed. “I can’t fucking sing! But I was too embarrassed to bail at that point, standing up there in a line, so I panicked, and I’m like, what musical do I know all the words to? And I go with The Book of Mormon.”

Archer was delighted. “Which song did you pick?”

“‘I Believe.’”

“No!” Archer cackled.

Caleb cracked up. “I know, worst choice ever! And then I ended up forgetting all the fucking words anyway.”

Archer tipped his head back and laughed, feeling wonderfully loose and warm up against Caleb’s side.

Caleb nodded at his empty bottle once their laughter had faded. “You want another?”

“Sure, thanks.” Archer watched Caleb’s tight ass make its way over to the fridge. He caught Betty’s eye across the room where she was chatting with a bunch of the other dancers. She gave him an eyebrow waggle with a pointed glance at Caleb.

Archer grimaced and shook his head.

Sure, she smirked back at him.

Archer turned his head to ignore her, pointedly.

“What do you think?” Caleb asked when he got back, extending his bottle toward the beer pong table. “Think we can take those assholes from maintenance?”

Archer studied the fluid, muscled lines of Caleb’s body. “Hell yeah, we can.”

They could not. But they drank and laughed even more, fingers brushing, shoulders bumping, as they got their asses handed to them by the sturdy, well-practiced maintenance crew.

Mateo was there early on, hovering around the edges, glowering at his beer. Archer tried to ignore him, but his gaze continued to find that thick, brooding frame. Then, when Archer was leaning against Caleb, laughing at a catastrophically bad beer pong shot, he looked up and saw Mateo watching them.