I want a party

Throw a party

I can’t throw a party. I have three friends

Invite them

Ethan chuckled.

I want you to throw a party and invite Kim

I don’t know Kim

She’s friends with Marcy

NO

Yes

Mom will never agree to this

Good thing they’re going to the lake again this weekend

No

Throw a party, invite your friends, and have Marcy invite Kim

“I’m going to go over there and strangle him,” I said.

“No, don’t!” Ethan laughed.

“You don’t know what he’s asking me to do.”

“If it means you get to stay…” He said it in a way that was obvious he was trying to be cute, and I hated myself for being absolutely powerless against it.

Those fucking dimples.

Fine

A costume party

“That’s it!” I said, trying to sit up.

Ethan put an open palm over my stomach, preventing me. “I’ll help.”

“You’ll help?” I turned to him.

“Absolutely.” He nodded. “I’ll help.”

“You’ll come?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll stay until it’s over?”

“I’ll even help clean up afterward.” He smiled.

I sighed, then I started typing again. Okay

!!!

You’ll cover for me?

Sure. Jonas already told the ’rents he was trying to convince you to stay at his place. You know, for old time’s sake

Ethan started laughing. “You gotta hand it to him. That was clever.”

I locked my phone and put it down, closing my eyes and trying my very best not to scream.

I could feel his eyes on me, mostly because I kept them shut for as long as I possibly could.

“So,” he said softly. “A costume party.”

Jesus, a costume party.

“I already know what you should go as,” he said.

I opened my eyes and turned to him.

“Swimmer,” he said, raising both his eyebrows.

“Swimmer?”

“Just imagine. Black speedos and a gold medal around your neck.”

I grunted. “Yeah, no. Wait, is that a kink?”

“Possibly.” He ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I’m not going as a swimmer.”

He looked genuinely disappointed.

“But. That’s not to say I won’t wear that sometime.”

“Just so you know, it’s mean to lead people on.”

I smiled, and he looked so proud that I did.

“Right.” He got up and opened the door of his closet, flooding the room with yellow light before disappearing into it.

“What are you doing?” I asked, raising myself on my elbows.

“What do you usually wear to bed?” he asked, his voice somewhat muffled.

“Uh—sweatpants and an old T-shirt?”

“Are you guessing?”

“No, I’m—I just don’t get the question.”

“You can’t sleep in your jeans.” He poked his head out of the closet and threw me a pair of gray sweatpants.