Yep. I lied. We’re not 24. We’re not even 20 yet. Two weeks.
“He’s never going to discover,” Rachele said, trying to convince herself as much as me.
“You sure?” I smirked, because smirks are my favorite weapon. “Bet he’s going to be scared and treat us like babies. Then we should clip his world upside down.”
“Clip his world upside down?” she parroted, trying to imagine the logistics. Her mouth twisted when she did that, and I could see the smile trying to push out like a tide.
“Yep,” I said, bright as a match. “He’ll have no idea what hit him.”
Rachele’s anxiety loosened a fraction. “You always sound sure.”
“Exactly.” I leaned in, voice dropping so low Rachele had to lean closer to catch it. “We play coy for a while—soft smiles, little stumbles, the whole act. Let him dote. Let him
