She scratches behind Dusty’s ear, then glances at me, all faux-casual. “You know, you should come on my run with me tomorrow morning. Six a.m. Me, you, Dusty. Up Birch to my spot.”
My head snaps around. “Six a.m.?”
She nods, smile too bright. “It’s good for you. Clears the head, gets the blood moving.”
“I already skate for a living,” I mutter. “Not wasting sleep on sunrise jogs.”
Her grin sharpens. “What’s wrong, Miller? Notefficientenough for you?”
“Running uphill before dawn is the opposite of efficient.”
She nudges my leg with her foot, unwilling to give up convincing me. “You’d finally get to see my spot in person. I think you’d like it.”
I shake my head, but the corner of my mouth betrays me, twitching upward. “Pretty sure I’d like sleep more.”
“Fine. Then maybe I’ll settle for seeing one of your efficient workouts. You know, get some pointers.”
I snort, forcing my gaze to stay glued to the dark screen and not her shin resting against my leg. “Trust me, Parnell. You wouldn’t survive one of my workouts.”
“Oh?” she drawls, nudging my thigh. “Sounds like a challenge.”
I risk a glance at her, and she’s already watching me, eyes dancing, knowing exactly how far she’s pushing. And I should shut it down, I should move, but instead, my lips twitch. “Careful what you wish for.”
Her answering laugh slides under my skin, warm and dangerous. Then she shifts, voice casual but eyes still sharp.
“Suit yourself, but Dusty’s on Team Lulu for tomorrow morning.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “One run. But if I die halfway up, you’re explaining it to Eli.”
Her eyes light up. “Did Logan Pookie Miller just agree to a six a.m. run with me?”
“Don’t push it.”
She grins anyway, turning back to the screen, triumphant. And I’m the one rattled, because I can’t remember the last time I agreed to anything that wasn’t on my terms.
The truth is, I like this too much. The banter, the soft chaos she brings, the way my house doesn’t feel so hollow with her in it.
The more she’s here, the harder it’s going to be to let her go.
And I’m not sure I even want to try.
Chapter thirteen
You really think my brother’s that scary?
Lulu
My alarm goes off at 5:42 a.m., the kind of time that feels fake unless you’ve promised someone you’d be awake for it. Dusty’s head pops up first, ears perked, tail already going. He’s clearly been waiting all night for this exact moment.
I throw my favorite running set on—the same light blue crop and leggings I was wearing the day I accidentally traumatized the neighborhood with my podcast—and then pull my door open.
Across the hall, a door opens, and Logan appears, broad-shouldered and scowly. If someone sculpted an early-morning complaint into a man, it would be him. He’s in a long-sleeve Nikeshirt, running shorts, and a grim expression that says he regrets every decision that led him here.
“You look thrilled,” I whisper, crouching to lace my shoes.
He yawns without apology. “If I die on your hill, bury me under the flamingo.”
“Please,” I say, standing up again and grabbing Dusty’s harness. “The swan has stronger leadership qualities.”
