She laughs. “I’ll ask you not to mention anything about me and my bush in the same sentence, thank you very much.”

“Oh wow.” A startled laugh breaks out of me and I fall back on the bed in fake shock. “You made a joke about pubes. I can’t believe it. I’m dead.”

She’s laughing and turning red and I wonder what she would say if I offered to be her first kiss, but then I push the thought away.

Ridiculous.

Besides, we hate each other.

Don’t we?

10

Life is not a spectator sport. If you’re going to spend your whole life in the grandstand just watching what goes on, in my opinion you’re wasting your life.

—Jackie Robinson

Reese

It’s so warm and comfortable I don’t want to move. Like I’m sleeping in a perfectly warm stove. Except the stove is only at my back. And around my waist.

And there’s a calm wind pulsing against my neck.

No. Not wind.

Puffs of air, gentle ones. Breaths. Someone is breathing. Against my neck.

I open my eyes to a blank white wall beginning to glow with the rays of sun filtering through the small window.

I’m at Jude’s. Lying in the narrow bed. There’s a wall of smooth heat at my back and an arm around my torso, tethering me in place.

A strong, lean, muscular arm.

Holy Pythagoras.

I’m sleeping with Fitz.

He’s spooning me.

What do I do?

My heart accelerates in my chest like a drum beat so loud and hard he’s gotta hear it. It’s like a game of Jumanji is about to start in here.

Before I can decide to move or not to move, the choice is taken from me.

His phone buzzes across the hard surface of the nightstand and he immediately rolls away, taking the heat with him.

He fumbles and the phone abruptly ceases its bleating tone.

I screw my eyes shut and don’t move a single muscle.

“Sorry.” His whispered voice is a raspy murmur in the muted daylight.

My mouth is dry. I swallow but don’t have a chance to speak.

“I have a race.” The bed dips and lifts as he gets to his feet.

The dresser opens, clothes rustling, but still I don’t look.

“I’m sorry I . . . I sort of took over your room on a night you won.” He’s still whispering, like he wants to talk to me but isn’t sure I’m awake.

Is he apologizing because he regrets falling asleep with me? Like I must be some kind of monster to sleep with or something? Maybe I stink. This whole thing is weird and awkward and exactly why I don’t interact with people. What would a normal person do in this situation?

Probably not what I’m doing, which is remaining silent.

Fitz speaks again. “I’m running late but . . . ah, I’ll see you later.”

It’s not until he’s shut the door behind him that I relax.

He has to think I’m the biggest freak.