“See you later, work buddy.” Grabbing a towel out of the hamper, he slings it over his shoulder, whistling as he leaves the room.

When he comes back fifteen minutes later, I pretend to be asleep. It feels easier to lie next to him with my eyes closed than to have to come up with new things to say. I can be cool, confident, and experienced again in the morning. He climbs into bed next to me and curls himself around me, tangling his legs with mine.

I don’t sleep a wink.

TWELVE

IN THE MORNING I’m still lying stiffly beside Dean, who’s snoring softly, little puffs of air tickling my ear. His arm is slung over me, holding me still. I sit up as much as I can, trying to reach for my phone without waking him.

When I get ahold of it, I click it on and check the time: 7:30. I have to get back to Danielle’s soon, before her parents notice I’m missing. Is it too early to wake Dean? I study his face for a minute, thankful for the opportunity to stare at him unnoticed. He looks younger when he sleeps, and less intimidating. He has a dark freckle next to his left eye and a little scar on his forehead I can just barely see through a part in his messy hair.

I’m worried that once he wakes up the easy way things were last night will be gone, that everything between us was only a result of the whiskey. Talking to him now might ruin it. I don’t want him to see the morning crusts in my eyes. What if he tries to kiss me and I have morning breath? Or worse, what if he doesn’t try to kiss me at all?

I have to get out from under his arm.

I shift slightly to the right, trying to wiggle over to the side of the bed as quietly as I can. He moves and the arm tightens, pulling me closer into his chest. I lie still for a minute, enjoying the feel of it. With his body against mine it’s easy to imagine just staying here forever.

But then I think again of my greasy face and the mascara that’s probably smudged under my eyes. No, definitely better to sneak out. I pause for a moment, sinking into him and closing my eyes, trying to remember exactly how it feels to be wrapped up in him, in case it’s the last time. And then I lift his arm just enough to squeeze under and climb out of the bed, trying to gather up my scattered clothes.

As I put my top on, I feel a lot more exposed in the morning light than I did last night. I glance over at the pair of sparkling torture shoes lying by the door. I really don’t want to strap them back on.