I woke up feeling wrecked. Not the kind of wrecked that a hot shower or a good stretch could fix. This was something else. Like I had been broken apart and put back together in the wrong order. Like something in me had shifted permanently, and now I had to live with it. Like I had spent the entire night fighting some invisible war, except there was no battlefield, no enemy—just her. Just Beverly Price, breathing slow and even against my chest, curled into me like she belonged there.

The room was dim, the soft morning light creeping in through her curtains, casting long shadows against the walls. Outside, the world was already waking up—cars rumbling down the street, birds calling from the oak tree in the front yard, the faint sounds of our parents moving around downstairs.

It was Monday. We had to go to school. And I didn’t care.

Because Beverly’s legs were tangled with mine. Because her arm was draped over my stomach, her fingers curled slightly into my shirt, like she had fallen asleep holding onto me.

Because her mouth was right there, inches from my throat.

I swallowed, trying to regulate my breathing, trying to keep my brain from short-circuiting.

It didn’t work.

Because my brain was still stuck on last night.

Still stuck on the feeling of her lips against mine.

Still stuck on the way she looked at me in the dark.

Still stuck on the sound of my name on her lips.

Still stuck on the way she broke apart in my arms.

And now? Now, I was supposed to just wake up, go downstairs, eat breakfast, and pretend like my entire world hadn’t just shifted on its axis? Yeah. No. But I couldn’t just stay here all day, either. Because it was Monday. Because Mom and Dad were downstairs. Because if I didn’t move now, I wouldn’t move at all.

I exhaled slowly, my fingers twitching against Beverly’s back.

I needed to get out of this bed before she woke up and looked at me like she had me wrapped around her little finger.

Because she did.

I took a deep breath, forcing my body to cooperate as I slowly, carefully, tried to untangle myself.

Bad idea. The second I shifted, Beverly sighed—a sleepy, content sound that made my chest feel too tight.

Her arm curled tighter around me, like she could sense I was trying to leave, like she wasn’t ready to let me go yet.

And just to finish me off completely, she mumbled my name. Soft. Slurred. Like she had spent the entire night dreaming of me.

Jesus Christ.

I was never recovering from this.