“Why not?”
“Because we’re—” she waved a hand between us, “like this!”
I barely had time to reply before the door swung open anyway.
Luca leaned in, squinting against the light. “Morning—oh my eyes!” He threw up a hand dramatically. “I did not need to see this before coffee.”
Lilah let out a strangled noise and practically launched herself off me, scrambling for the edge of the bed. “Luca! Knock means wait!”
“I did wait,” he said. “For like three seconds. That’s basically a lifetime.”
I propped myself up on my elbows, trying not to laugh at the way she glared at her brother like she might kill him.
Luca grinned, entirely unbothered. “Relax. Asa’s making breakfast. Pancakes, I think. Or maybe omelets. Hard to tell. The point is, he’s yelling at the stove and it’s every man for himself.”
“Out,” Lilah said, pointing aggressively at the hallway.
Luca wiggled his eyebrows. “Sure thing. Just—uh—maybe put a sock on the door next time?”
“LUCA.”
He shut the door, still laughing, and his footsteps disappeared down the hall. For a moment, there was silence again. Then I lost it.
The laugh came out before I could stop it—quiet at first, then shaking my shoulders. Lilah turned to glare at me, cheeks flushed bright red.
“It’s not funny,” she said.
“It’s a little funny,” I said. “You should’ve seen your face.”
“You should’ve seen yours.”
“I did,” I said. “In the mirror this morning, when I realized you’d glued yourself to me.”
She groaned again, dragging a hand over her face. “I’m never living this down.”
“Oh, definitely not,” I said. “Luca’s probably already telling Asa and Nina.”
She shot me a look that could’ve melted steel. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But in my defense, it’s not every day your fake girlfriend tries to smother you in her sleep.”
Her hand twitched like she wanted to throw something. I wisely rolled out of bed before she could find an object.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go before Luca decides to interrogate me about my intentions over pancakes.”
“Great,” she muttered, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand. She shoved them on, blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted. Her hair was still a mess, one sleeve of her sweatshirt was half rolled-up, and I had that same stupid feeling I always got seeing her like this—unfiltered, half-asleep, herself.
She looked over at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “You just… look awake now.”
“That’s usually the goal when I wake up.”
“Right.” I coughed. “Good talk.”
She shook her head, trying not to smile as she brushed past me toward the door. And I stood there for a second longer, staring at the rumpled sheets, my heart doing that weird off-beat thing again.
Because for all the pretending we’d been doing, for all the jokes and fake smiles, waking up with her had felt?—
