I rolled my eyes. “Of course you do. You have a taco truck in the back too? A Starbucks?”

He paused. “Should we get them? I’m not even sure my mom would notice it on the credit card.”

I laughed, then. “Well, the taco truck isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“I want a taco bus.”

“I would drive that bus to school.” I nodded.

“Nah, that’s my job.” Was all he said as he started making the quesadillas.

I ate three.

He ate four.

And then I fell asleep with a smile on my face—and my stomach full.

I sit up and yawn; the blanket falls down by my feet, wrapped around me, I hear a noise and look over my shoulder. My jaw drops as Ambrose walks around the corner in nothing but a white towel and all the abs on display.

His hair’s still wet.

He reaches into the fridge, grabs the orange juice carton, and tilts it back, his mouth on it like he has ownership of the juice.

“Germs,” I call out.

He chokes and then wipes his mouth, and looks over at me. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too late to be worried about germs?”

My face instantly heats.

Don’t think about it.

Do not.

Do not go there.

Foster brother.

Roommate.

Semi-friends at home.

Enemies at school.

I try to stand, then realize that I’m tangled up too late, crashing to the floor with a giant thud.

“You all right?” He laughs.

I hold up a thumbs up. “Not so much my pride, but my body broke the fall into the coffee table, then the floor.”

“Good to know.” He laughs harder. “We have school in a few. I’d shower and do something with that hair before I have to step in and braid it for you.”

I jerk up and look at him from the floor. “You braid? Who are you?”

He frowns. “Um, a super smart guy who likes to impress girls and watched youtube for three straight hours just in case the moment arose? Why?”

I rub my eyes. “Why does that make sense?”

“Exactly.” He nods and then winks and looks over at the stove. “PS, the cease-fire ends soon.”

“I know.”

We share a look, then both of our attention is on the fridge, on the stupid yoga magnet, on our pact.

He flicks it again, then hangs his head and runs his hands through his hair. “Remember our rules.”

“How could I forget?”

Silence falls between us before he clears his throat. “We gotta leave in thirty, I’d hurry.”

“Crap.” I untangle the blanket and jump to my feet. It takes me around fifteen minutes to put on some lip gloss and mascara before pulling my hair into a messy bun and dressing.

I snatch two protein bars and a cold brew from the fridge. By the time I have my designer bag, Ambrose is already out front in the car waiting for me, looking every inch like one of those Tik Tok guys you see in uniforms looking way too hot to actually attend school.