Page 64 of Between the Lines

“Well the guys are on schedule, might even finish up early,” I add, digging into the pint of mint-chocolate chip even though I’m not hungry. I’ll make this pint last all night if it means I have an excuse to stay here on this sofa with her.

“You’ll get your sanity back before you know it.”

I furrow my brow.

“Oh come on, you and Daisy have been easy neighbors,” I reply.

Fia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, okay. No need to fake politeness for my sake. I know we are a lot, I know I am a lot.” She scoffs, turning her attention back to the TV, which is so low I can barely hear it. A game show with cheering people and flashing lights plays across the screen.

Who told her she was too much? Too much what?

Too much fucking sunshine?

I bite my tongue.

They are wrong. I want to tell her that, but instead I stick with something less . . . Something that friends would say.

“If you were too much,” I reply, gruffer than before, “I would’ve kicked you out a week ago.”

Fia offers me a playful grin, and we fall into comfortable silence.

She sets her ice-cream carton on the coffee table and comments on the game show, but I’m not paying attention.

It’s taking all my energy to tamp down my thoughts about the girl next to me.

“Have you ever seen the show where they—” I start to ask but turn to see Fia’s eyes shut, her head laid on the back of the sofa, breathing deep.

Shit, she’s out.

I lean forward, setting down my half-empty ice-cream pint. I should seriously go now.

Without standing, so I don’t wake her up, I reach down to the end of the sofa and grab a blanket, tossing it over her bare legs. But then she stirs—not enough to wake, but enough to shift and lean over—lying straight onto me.

Fia’s head falls against my chest, her arm draped over my shoulder. Her soft hair splayed across me, filling my nose with the scent of jasmine.

I hold my breath, too afraid to move.

Who knows how long Fia’s been awake, taking care of a sick child. I’d be a fucking jerk to wake her—she needs this sleep.

While I try to figure out what to do, falling into a sleepy state myself, she curls more into my side, and I lean further back and loop an arm protectively around her body until we are fully entangled on the sofa together.

Her fingers twitch over my chest, and if I set my hand down, it’s going to land straight on her ass. Her ass, which is hardly contained by her shorts.

Fuck.

The ice cream will have to melt on the coffee table. Because I’m not moving.

What is that?

I jolt as something soft steps on my forehead and open my eyes to the glow of the TV and . . . a damn cat. And a hot weight across my body.

Gradually, my eyes adjust, and I glance down, barely having to look far at all. Because Fia’s fully on top of me, her long red hair draped over my chest, her face hidden in the crook of my neck.

My heart thrums wildly as I take stock of my body.

When I realize my palm is fully encasing her ass cheek, I bite my lip hard and lift my hand away.

Shit, shit, shit.