Chloe: EXCUSE ME!
Maya: In his BED?!
Lily: Guest room. Calm down.
Amber: Please tell me you're going to sneak into his room.
Emily: Do NOT sneak into his room. Respect boundaries.
Lily: I'm not sneaking anywhere. I'm going to sleep.
Madison: Sure you are
I toss my phone onto the nightstand and flop back on the bed.
Sleep. Right.
Like that's going to happen.
CHAPTER 4
Idon't sleep.
Not really. And it’s not for lack of trying. I keep picking up my phone and doing quick math. You know, the kind every insomniac is practiced at. If I fall asleep right now, I’ll get seven hours of sleep before I have to get up.
If I fall asleep right now, I’ll get four hours of sleep before I have to get up…
Instead of sleeping, I lie in Ethan's guest bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the evening. The way he looked at me across the dinner table. The warmth of his hand on mine. The quiet intensity in his voice when he said,I want to know you.
By the time the sun starts filtering through the curtains, I've given up on rest entirely.
I slip out of bed, find my clothes from yesterday and put them on before tiptoeing downstairs. The house is silent. Peaceful. I should leave. Grab my bag, sneak out before Ethan wakes up, and avoid the awkward morning-after conversation that isn't even actually a morning-after because nothing happened. Nothing other than the best conversation of my life. I can’tbelieve we spoke for hours, and I meanhours.I’ve never talked to anyone for that long in my life.
But then I smell coffee.
I follow the scent to the kitchen and find Ethan standing at the counter, pouring two mugs. He's wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and his hair is slightly mussed like he just woke up. Those sweatpants leave almost nothing up to the imagination. I can’t help but notice the large bulge in the front. My mouth waters, literally waters, and it’s not from the smell of the coffee.
He looks unfairly good.
"Morning," he says, glancing over his shoulder.
"Morning." I hover in the doorway. "I didn't mean to sleep so late."
"It's seven a.m., Lily. That's not late."
"It is for me."
He hands me a mug, and our fingers brush. The contact is brief but electric.
"How'd you sleep?" he asks.
"Fine," I lie.
His mouth quirks. "Liar."
"Okay, fine. I barely slept. Happy?"
"Not particularly." He leans against the counter, studying me. "Why didn't you sleep?"
