“No.” My eyelids couldn’t open. I was seriously tired, but I was determined. “Cancel your driver. I’ll take you to the airport.”

“No. Go to sleep. I’ll just slip out.” He bent down, pressing a kiss to the side of my mouth. “For real. It’s ungodly to be up at this hour. Rest till your friends get here.”

Did he not… He didn’t. It was official. I needed to introduce myself again.

I growled, lightly shoved his head away, and swung my feet down. I was at least sitting now, but yeah—eyes still not open. Around a yawn, I tried to be fiercer. “I said I’d drive you. Airporaaaaah,” I yawned, “is five minutes from here.” Okay. I just needed to rub my eyes a little, and then they’d open.

He chuckled, bending close again. He placed another soft kiss on my forehead before he pushed his finger there, easing me back down. “Go to bed, psycho. I have a driver coming.”

“No.”

I was determined.

Pride. Stubbornness. All of my superhero qualities.

There. I got my eyes open, and whoa—it was so dark out. He was right. No one should be up at this time, but he was, so I was. He still wavered over me. I pushed him aside and scooted to the bathroom first.

“Are you for real?” His exasperation was evident.

“Yes,” I yelled over, peeing. A quick wash. Teeth. I splashed my face a little, then I opened the door and waved him in. “Go. Get ready. I’ll put on coffee. You canceled your driver, right?”

He growled as he grabbed for his phone.

I pulled on clothes. I wasn’t even looking, but it might not have been a coincidence when I grabbed one of his sweatshirts. I had a problem, a sweatshirt problem. Pretty sure I could’ve started a support group, because I know I wasn’t alone.

Slipping some shoes on, I got the coffee going, and had a cup ready for him when he was done. Keys. Phone. Purse. I was set. Black leggings on, his sweatshirt over, and my hair up in a messy bun, I was sure I was the epitome of beauty. Not. I didn’t care. The coffee gave me points.

He came out, all ready, saw me, and shook his head.

Giving him the biggest smile I could muster, I handed over his coffee and dangled my keys. “Let’s go.”

My neighbor was coming home from his night shift at a factory. He was trudging down the hallway when he saw us, lifted a hand in greeting, then stopped. His head shot upright and his shoulders stiffened.

He rotated swiftly on his heels, his eyes wide and bulging. He held up a hand. “Is that—”

“No.” Lying. Another superhero quality of mine. “It’s late, Bill. That’s my brother.”