I chuckle, thumb hovering.
Me: Does he always hover like that?
Bayleigh: You have no idea. He still calls me when I drive somewhere after dark.
Me: Overprotective’s one thing. Dictatorship’s another.
Bayleigh: You’re telling me.
Milton eyes me from the side. “You texting or writing a damn novel over there?”
“Maybe I’m multitasking.”
“Yeah, right,” he says, stretching. “You’ve got that stupid soft look. That’s not multitasking. That’s catching feelings.”
“Bite me.”
He grins and kicks his foot against my leg. “Not my type.”
I shake my head, but my lips twitch anyway.
Sunlight spills across the floor in thin stripes through the blinds. The only sounds are the low murmur of the TV andKorbin clinking dishes in the kitchen. The air smells of coffee and maple syrup. Somewhere outside, a lawn mower hums to life. I take another sip of my coffee, and sink deeper into the couch.
Me: You always this sassy, or am I getting special treatment?
Bayleigh: Depends. You flirting?
Me: Maybe. You biting?
Bayleigh: Wouldn’t you like to know?
A small sound escapes me—half laugh, half groan.
Milton groans dramatically. “For fuck’s sake, if you’re gonna start sexting, at least go to your room. I don’t need to see that.”
I throw a pillow at him. “It’s not like that.”
“Yet.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s not wrong.
Me: You actually look good in that Kraken jersey. Bet you’d look better with a Brooks name on the back.
Bayleigh: I’ll pretend that’s not blasphemy coming from a Scorpion fan.
Me: I’m just saying it’s a crime against fashion. You could do better.
Bayleigh: Oh yeah? Like what?
Me: My toolbelt as a top and those jeans from the game.
She sends a laughing emoji and a picture—her hand flipping the camera off, nails painted Kraken blue.
Bayleigh: Dream on, Brooks.
I stare at the picture longer than I should, then save it before I can talk myself out of it.
Milton catches the grin spreading across my face and groans, “Man, you’regone.”
