We stand and take our trays back. Misha puts his arm around my waist when he whispers conspiratorially. “Come on, what do you say?”
Part of me wants to dive back into my AR work to bury the discomfort in productivity. But the thought of an evening surrounded by them is too tempting. “Do you guys have strawberry ice cream?” I ask. “Just so I know if I have to bring my own.”
Is that weird?
Grey smirks, catching Misha’s eye. “We do,” Misha confirms with a grin. “A whole tub just for you if you come.”
“Fine,” I agree with a sigh.
The prospect of a cozy evening with friendsandstrawberry ice cream somehow makes the rest of this crampy Monday much more bearable.
Outside their apartmenton the eighteenth floor, I hesitate, the buzzing in my head a mix of excitement and nervous energy.
Should I knock, ring the doorbell, or just text?
Before I can decide, the door swings open, revealing Misha with that infectious grin of his. “Why did I know you’re lurking out here?” he teases, flashing back to our meeting before gently tugging me into the apartment.
The guys’ place is strikingly different from mine—darker, way bigger, and more masculine. Dark wood furniture dominates the space, complementing the expansive windows that frame the Seattle skyline, much like my own view but somehow more imposing.
A big, sleek black couch faces a projector screen, ready for movie night. The ambiance is cozy, with dimmed lights casting soft shadows, and the air is tinged with the scent of coffee and freshly popped popcorn.
Grey bustles around in the open kitchen while Oliver leans with his hip on the kitchen island, his back to me. Beside him is a striking redhead with collarbone-length hair. She’s beautiful, with pale skin and freckles, and she’s short—probably a head shorter than me. Her vibrant hair contrasts with the muted tones of the room.
As soon as she sees me, her face lights up with a smile, making her even more beautiful.
“Look who I found,” Misha declares, and Oliver turns, giving me a warm smile that mirrors his sister’s.
They do look somewhat alike.
“Perfect timing,” Grey says, filling a bowl with fresh popcorn.
The redhead makes her way over to me and studies me for a long moment.
I’m wearing my pink sweatpants, like they told me to, and a white Henley. My hair is in a braid over my shoulder, and that damn spot on my chin is even redder than this morning.
God, I should have put in more effort.
She sure looks like she did, even though she’s in leggings and an oversized green sweater the color of her eyes.
“Hey, Amelia, I’m Morgan. I’m so happy to meet you. But I have to say, you don’t feel like a stranger.” Morgan laughs, and she is one of those people who is so confident they make you squirm when they’re this straightforward. “You’re even prettier than Oliver said,” she adds, which sends a wave of blush across my cheeks.
“Morgy,” Oliver hisses from behind her, but she waves him off.
“Oh, shut up. Amelia knows she’s that kind of eternal beauty.”
“Says you,” I manage to quip back, and Morgan’s laughter fills the room, warm and inviting.
“I like you. But I already knew I would. I’ve heard so much about you, Amelia.” Oliver groans audibly, dragging a hand down his face, which only makes Morgan laugh harder. “Come on, let’s sit down.”
She walks toward the couch, and I glance at Misha, who nods in her direction to make me follow. When I turn, he mutters under his breath to Oliver, “Not so excited for them to meet anymore, are you?”
As I sink into the plush cushions of the couch, a slight grimace escapes me before I can mask it.
Morgan catches it, her brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”
“Sure, I’m just sore and… crampy,” I admit, immediately regretting my bluntness. I know women talk about their periods with each other, but probably not within minutes of meeting.
Morgan doesn’t seem phased. “Oh, have you already taken some Midol?”
