If we were sitting upright instead of lying down on our sides, face-to-face, I’d assume more hand gestures would be used.
“Sorry,” she blurts, scooting closer, and her knees knock into my thighs. “It’s been forever since I’ve done a sleepover.With girls. Not with alcohol. And definitely not with super hot guys I want to lick every inch of. My dad wouldn’t have approved.”
“You really have no filter,” I comment, then bite back a snort when she skirts her palm against my arm. “Am I just a piece of meat to you?”
“No, but feel free to flex ’em again for me.” Her other hand lands on my chest, wandering and inching lower, and I wrap my fingers around her wrist before she goes any further.
“Barbie.” Her warm brown eyes are doe-like as she meets my gaze. “As much as I want this... It’s late and you’re drunk…” I trail off, uncertain of how to proceed with the conversation. I don’t want to offend her, but I refuse to take advantage of her.
“Oh.” She’s silent for a bit. I’m about to say something to alleviate the tension forming in the air when she tackles me out of nowhere with a hug. Burying her face into my chest, she hooks one leg around mine. “You aresosweet. You’re not the jackass I thought you were.”
“You thought I was a jackass?”
“Does seventy-two emails ring a bell?” she muffles in response.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’d change the font color for the wordsquitto a shade of gray dark enough to look black,” I comment. “You’re not that slick. My laptop’s set to dark mode.”
She turns her head and giggles into my bicep. It’s an uncomfortable position, one she’s also aware of because she wriggles around until her back is pressed against me. She grabs my arm and pulls it around her waist. Her fingers link with mine, squeezing tightly.
“But did you notice I didn’t sign off withkind regards?”
“I mean,” I reply, “regardsstill convey the same message.”
“Next time you get aregardsfrom yours truly,” she yawns, “know it was sent unkindly.”
“You think you can sneak one in from now until the end of August?”
“Knowing us? Myregardswill findyou on Monday.”
I chuckle wryly into her hair, and she arches against me in response, her body contouring to mine. “Looking forward to it.”
“You’re right, Ethan,”she grumbles, shoving her hands through her brown hair. “I am… not… a morning person. Anymore.”
I refrain from laughing. Now’s not the time. Not when she looks absolutely miserable, down to the heavy bags under her eyes.
“You’re running on four hours of sleep,” I remind her. “And you had a few drinks last night.”
She groans into her palm. “I barely had two. I’ve always been a lightweight, but it’s never been this bad.”
“I mean, we’re not twenty-year-olds anymore,” I say. “If we sleep wrong, it’ll ruin our day.”
She’s silent for a moment. “I miss getting out of bed without my knee popping. And how candy tasted better in my childhood compared to now.”
“There could have been changes to the ingredients.”
“No,” she grumps. “The palate of my adult taste buds has changed. It can’t handle anything sweet anymore.”
“Does this mean you don’t want any donuts?”
“Who am I to say no to freshly made donuts?”
“I don’t know if they’re freshly made.”
“Who am I to say no to deliciously glazed donuts?” she amends. “With a delicious cup of coffee to wash them down. And greasy eggs. And fries. And pizza.”
“I don’t think anything’s open at this time,” I say. “Except the donut shop.” I gesture ahead to where Hole Lotta Donuts is situated. “And Java Hut.” I point to our left. Beyond the town square and vibrant park is the coffee shop I stumbled across the first morning here.
“But what if you want greasy eggs?” she mumbles.
