Page 96 of Next Level Up
She laughs into my chest. “Tempting. But I’m not letting you go hypoglycemic and pass out mid-movie marathon.”
We drag ourselves up and reheat the leftovers from earlier. Tate reappears from his nap at the sound of the microwave beeping, his hoodie half-zipped, a single headphone dangling from his neck.
“Y’all were loud,” he mutters, stealing a bread stick.
“You were snoring,” Haven fires back.
“Iwas resting.”
“You were gargling drywall.”
He flips her off without looking. These two are going to be the death of me.
Dinner’s lazy, sprawled out on the floor with plates balanced on thighs and the muted rumble of rain hitting the windows. Eventually, it’s time to clean up. Eventually, we crash again. And eventually, I lose the war with the goddamn air mattress.
“Seriously?” I hiss, kicking the corner. It deflates with the saddest wheeze I’ve ever heard. “I just filled it.”
Tate pops his head into the room. “Did you break it again?”
“No,” I lie.
Haven peers up from the bed. “It’s okay. We can try to reinflate—”
“Nope,” Tate interrupts. “Not doing this again. Just get in the bed.”
I blink. “What?”
He shrugs as he leans against the doorframe. “It’s a queen. You’re not five foot three. Neither am I. She barely is. We’re not playing musical beds all week.”
“But you said—”
“I changed my mind,” he says simply. “Now shut up and get in before I regret being reasonable.”
I glance at Haven. She’s biting back a smile. I glance back at Tate.
He’s walking toward the bathroom, muttering something about needing water and maybe a new spine. He’s brushing his teeth at the bathroom sink when I reach the doorway. I hover for a second, hand braced on the doorframe. “You okay?”
He snorts. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I told her I love her.”
He meets my eyes in the mirror, wipes his mouth with a towel. “Yeah. I figured.”
“You’re not… I don’t know. Weird about it?”
He tosses the towel into the hamper. “You think you loving her makes me love her less?”
I go still.
“That’s not how this works,” he mutters. “Not for me. Not for her. Not for us.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.”
He turns off the light, brushes past me, and mutters, “Besides, if I was gonna be weird about it, I’d have kicked your ass weeks ago.”
Haven moves instinctively when I come back, making space without looking. I slide into bed behind her, arm slipping around her waist. She hums softly, warm and half-asleep, and I feel her smile press against the pillow.
A minute later, Tate strolls back in with a bottle of water in hand and flips off the light, rounds the bed, and climbs in on the other side of her.
