Morning made it real.
Noah was still in my bed, one arm locked around my waist, his face buried in my hair like he had always slept there. Sunlight cut across the sheets. My body ached in places that had nothing to do with friendship. Every shift reminded me of his mouth, his hands, the way he had looked at me when he asked if I still wanted him to pretend.
I didn’t.
That was the part that scared me.
He woke when I tried to slip out from under his arm. His grip tightened first, instinctive, then loosened as his eyes opened.
“Don’t run,” he said, voice rough with sleep.
“I was going to make coffee.”
“That’s not running?”
“It’s caffeine.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. He tugged me back until I was half on his chest. His heartbeat was steady under my ear. Too steady. Like he had a
