“Oh, I’m deadly serious.” She tucks her legs under herself. “Sit. It’s the midseason finale. I can’t watch alone.”
“Haven’t you already seen this one?”
She shrugs, unapologetic. “Nah, just seen the spoilers online. Anyway,youhaven’t, and I like seeing you pretend you don’t care.”
I shake my head, but I sit anyway. Dusty hops up, sprawling between us for about three seconds before worming his way into her lap.
The episode kicks off—two leads whispering about their secret relationship behind a row of beach cabanas—and Lulu cuts mea side glance, eyes dancing. “See? I knew you were a closetShorelinefan.”
“Not a fan,” I mutter. “But if I’m forced to watch, I may as well use it as research.”
“Research?” She snorts. “For what? How to smolder in board shorts?”
I bite down a smile, refusing to give her the satisfaction. “Pretty sure I’ve got that covered.”
She tips her head, eyes sparkling. “Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I see you out there on your swan, brooding across Flamingo Lagoon.”
My jaw tightens, but it doesn’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching. “Not happening.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes move over me, deliberate enough to heat my skin. “Debatable.”
I shift in my seat, ignoring the curl down low. Onscreen, the couple is arguing—one wants to go public, the other’s worried about the fallout. The dialogue is clumsy, but the tension’s obvious.
“See?” Lulu says, pointing at the screen. “She just wants to live her life without everyone else’s rules dictating it. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Or,” I counter, “maybe he’s thinking about the bigger picture. About who gets caught in the blast when it blows up.”
“Or,” she fires back, her lips curving, “maybe he’s just scared.”
The words hang there, too pointed, too close to the bone.
I clear my throat, eyes back on the screen. “You should teach debate team.”
She grins, clearly satisfied, and turns back to the screen. But as she does so, her arm brushes mine, laughter spilling out at a ridiculous line delivery.
Then she turns that grin on me. “Don’t worry, Pookie. I won’t tell anyone about your guilty pleasure.”
“Not guilty,” I grumble. “And I’m not your Pookie.”
“Oh, you are.” Her voice drops, playful but warm. “And honestly? You’re lucky I’m not telling Eli how cuddly you get during love triangles.”
Heat flashes across my chest. “Lu—”
“Relax.” She tilts her head, feigning innocence, but her eyes are sharp. “You’re fun to tease when you’re wound tight, Miller.” Her grin softens, shoulder brushing mine. “Makes me like you more when I’m the one who cracks the smile.”
“Makesmeless patient,” I mutter, though my lips twitch.
She gasps and nudges her shoulder with mine. “That’s a smile. You’re smiling.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she cuts in with a grin. “Caught you.”
I shake my head, but she’s still pressed against my side, hair brushing my arm, Dusty sprawled across her lap.
And I don’t move.
Once the credits roll, Dusty’s snoring in her lap, his head tipped against the back of the couch. Then Lulu shifts, stretching out, and her legs slide across the cushion until smooth skin brushes my thigh. Casual and effortless, except for every nerve in my body lighting up.
