“I can’t control that one.”
“Then suffocate quietly.”
He was outright laughing now. He sat back up and pulled his own duffel bag over to get his pajamas. “You’re very charming when you’re stressed, you know that?”
“I’m not stressed! And you’re enjoying this way too much.”
I was, in fact, stressed, but not in the way he assumed I was. I was stressed about how badly I wanted to share this bed with him and how determined I was to never let him know that.
“I just think it’s funny,” he said. “You’ve been fake dating me for a week and this is the thing that breaks you?”
“I’m not broken,” I said, zipping up my bag with a little more force than necessary. “I just… didn’t plan on this, that’s all.”
And I don’t want to admit to Poppy that she was right.
He sat up, elbows on his knees. His voice softened. “I’ll take the floor if it really bothers you.”
That threw me for a second. He wasn’t teasing now. Just… sincere. But worse, I almost felt disappointed at the idea of himsleeping on the floor. We hadn’t come this far just to take those five steps backwards.
“You can’t sleep on the floor,” I said automatically.
“Sure I can. I’ve done it before.”
“You’ll wake up cranky and sore, and then I’ll have to deal with it.”
His mouth twitched again. “You’re admitting you care.”
“I’m admitting I don’t want to deal with your whining.”
“Same thing.”
I threw a pillow at him. He caught it easily, laughing again, and then tossed it back at me with zero warning. It hit me square in the chest.
“Rude!” I said.
“Equal opportunity pillow fight,” he said with a shrug. Before I could respond, he picked up another pillow and chucked it my way. I dodged, barely, and the pillow hit the dresser instead, knocking over one of the framed photos. It fell to the floor with a thud and we both froze, like we were waiting for one of the boys to come bursting in and demand answers for why they heard something fall.
Finally, Tino asked, “Do you think anyone noticed?”
“Probably not,” I said, righting the photo and setting it carefully back in place. “But if they did, I’m telling them you started it.”
He grinned again, that slow, lopsided smile that made it dangerously easy to stare at his lips. Why did he have to look at me like that? For a minute, neither of us said anything. Just the hum of the heater and the sound of my pulse trying to escape my body.
I turned toward my suitcase again, suddenly very aware of how much space the bed took up. I could practically feel its gravitational pull—warm, soft, dangerous. I changed in the bathroom as fast as I could, muttering under my breath aboutthe universe hating me. When I came back out, the lights were dimmed, and Tino was already stretched out on his side, scrolling on his phone.
He looked up when I walked in. His eyes flicked over my flannel pajamas, the oversized sweatshirt I’d thrown on top.
“Cozy,” he said, voice teasing.
“Functional,” I corrected, climbing in on the farthest possible edge. The mattress dipped under my weight. For a moment, it felt like the whole world was too small—like this little guest room was suddenly the center of the universe, and I was trapped in orbit around the boy lying a few inches away.
He set his phone down. “Goodnight, Lilah.”
“Goodnight, Tino.”
Silence settled between us. A minute passed. Then another.
“You’re still awake,” he murmured.
