You can hear music through the walls, but up here, the mood is different—intimate, charged. The room is small, just a handful of cheerleaders sprawled on the carpet and couch, laughing, teasing, passing drinks back and forth.
Jake leans back against the armrest of the couch, rolling a bottle of beer between his hands. He’s got that easy, confident grin—the kind that says he never backs down from a challenge.
"Alright, I’m in," he says, stretching out whats your name?
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