"Aww. Is the buffalo on top of you overheating?"
I glare at him. "Yes. And I'm not the one waking him up."
Noah grins. "That's sweet. Protecting the big boy snuggle monster." I can't feel my goddamn arm anymore, but Rava is still breathing softly against my throat. And maybe it’s the hangover, but lying here, with Rava tangled around me, I kind of never want to move again. Ever.
The low hum of the air conditioner kicks on with a click and a blessed gust of cold air washes over the room.
"FINALLY," Lorenzo moans from across the room. "Some fucking breeze, man, I thought I was gonna combust."
I shoot up a finger to my lips. "Shut. The fuck. Up." But it is too late. Rava groans softly against me, then shifts.
His body turns, and he rolls away, giving me his back. His hair is a mess, and his shoulder blades poke out just enough to make me want to touch him again.
Instead, I stare at Lorenzo like I'm about to end his bloodline. "Oops," he whispers, completely unbothered.
I swear to God, sometimes I don't care that he's family. Shit like this makes me want to drown him. Lorenzo is fully awake now, sitting up slowly with one leg still dangling off the bed.
"Oh my God," he groans, holding his face. "What happened last night? Why do I feel like I made out with a blender and then got hit by a bus?"
"I feel like I'm inside out," Noah mumbles from the table, slouched and sipping coffee.
I blink, trying to remember anything past the third round of shots. "What the fuckdidhappen?" I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. Noah holds up his phone. "Oh, we're about to find out. This," he says, shaking it slightly, "has over five hundred photos and videos from last night."
Lorenzo lets out a long groan. "Oh no. Oh no no no."
"This," Noah continues, "will be our downfall."
He stands up. "They have a projector. A fucking projector in this house. This is an elite level Airbnb." He points to the hallway. "Go puke. Go pee. Go cry. Whatever you need to do, get it done. Because in ten minutes? We're pressing play."
I drop my head into my hands. "We're so fucked."
I survive the shower. My body is still screaming. My soul has already left.
But I make it back to the bed, clean-ish, damp hair, water bottle in one hand. I sit down with my back to the wall, letting my spine settle into the cold concrete.
Then Rava comes over. He just drops between my legs, head right on my chest. He lets out a soft exhale against my shirt and immediately goes still.
And that's it. Except…fuck. It's here again. Emotion. Love. Real, fucking aching. This little piece of shit can't stop makingme feel things. I curse under my breath and tilt my head back against the wall, trying to ignore it.
His hair keeps falling into his eyes, so I reach up and gently push it back. Keep one hand there, resting on the side of his head.
My other hand reaches for his glasses on the nightstand. I hand them down to him. "Here." Rava slides them on without moving from my chest. "Thanks," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
"Can I join the hangover cuddle puddle?" Lorenzo asks.
I don't even look at him. "Not a chance."
"I'd take you," Noah says to Lorenzo.
"But I'm busy presenting the absolute unraveling of our collective dignity." He holds up his phone, then sighs. Palm to forehead. Full-on funeral director mode.
"Gentlemen…it's time."
The projector clicks.
First image:
Me and Rava, face to face, tongues touching, eyes locked like we're starring in the horniest indie romance of the decade. We're laughing. We look fucking good. Too good. Noah turns around. "Tell me that's not a fucking Spotify album cover!" Lorenzo is half-melted on the floor. "That's actually kind of…iconic. It's art. I hope I have a photo like this in here."
