I can’t quite face him right away. I run two fingers under each eye to wipe away the dark makeup smudges I can guarantee have appeared overnight. I’m embarrassed: not only am I probably all smudgy, but my morning breath can’t be amazing, and I have a hunch my hair has mussed in the least sexy way possible. I take a deep breath and turn back toward him with a look that says, Hello, I hope you remember I usually look more attractive than I do right now. Because suddenly, I care.

“I turned off Netflix after the fourth episode,” he says.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.

He has a loose eyelash on his cheek, and before I realize what I’m doing, I brush it away.

“Eyelash,” I explain.

He looks away and rubs his jaw. He’s grinning, and I don’t know what to do with that information.

Before my brain can catch up to my body, I lean into Raj, turn his chin toward mine, and kiss him. His lips are soft and his body is warm. I kiss him again, yearning for something more from him—more passion, more tenderness—but his posture stiffens. I pull back and inch away from him on the couch.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I don’t know why I thought you wanted that—that you felt like that.”

I’ve never felt self-conscious in front of Raj before, but suddenly, I worry I’m too much in every direction: too messy, too impulsive, too careless with his emotions. I feel the sinking sensation I’ve felt all spring and summer long, as if I’ve raced off the high dive without checking to see if there’s water below.

“I—uh, you—” he starts to speak, but shakes his head and pauses to collect himself. He clears his throat. “I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything just because I stayed over.”

“I don’t feel pressured into anything at all,” I say quickly.

He swallows and looks at me nervously. “I don’t want to be that guy who swoops in the minute a girl is single, you know? That’s not why I’m here. I came as a friend. Really.”

“A friend,” I echo. “Oh.”

“I mean, ugh, Eliza.” He mops a hand over his face and gives me a pained expression. “Look . . .”

“I don’t think it’s shady of you to swoop in here, for the record,” I say. “Remember, I invited you up. I wanted you to be here. I still want you to be here.”

“True,” he concedes. He glances down at my knee, like he’s considering putting his hand there, but he refrains.