Ivy gapes at my pile. “No! What are you doing?”
“Expanding my territory.”
“That’s not how boundaries work.”
“They are when I draw them.”
“Let me break things down for you, since subtlety isn’t your strong suit. You and your disgusting pile are going nowhere nearmybed.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me.”
Ivy marches over and carefully folds my clothes back into the bag.
“New rules,” she clips out. “Your side. My side. No crossing. Zero sprawl.”
“Define sprawl.”
She glares, eyes my spork, and holds it up like evidence at a trial.
“A spork? Really?”
I grin. “You never know when you might need to stab something.”
“I know the feeling.”
She drops it back in the bag without another word, then reaches into my pile again. This time, her hand pulls out a bright orange zipper case—my EpiPen.
“What’s this?”
“My get-out-of-death-free card.”
“You’re allergic?”
“Shrimp is out to get me.”
Ivy studies me for a second too long.Is that concern? Calculation? Annoyance that I’m apparently mortal?
She stuffs it back in with deliberate indifference.
“Don’t drop dead in my suite.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
She grabs a pillow. Slams it down the middle of the mattress. “This is the line. Do not cross it.”
I eyeball the line, nod like it’s a worthy opponent. Then I drop my forearm right next to it.
Her eyes flick to my arm. “You’re testing me.”
“I’m on my side.”
“You’re crowding the line.”
“I cherish the line,” I murmur. “We’re getting to know each other.”
Her jaw tightens. “I swear, you exist to annoy me.”
“Funny how you keep talking then.”
