I shove his shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mm.” He nods seriously. “It’s true, though. I’ll take a recording next time.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Fine, then I’ll record you talking in your sleep.”
His grin falters. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”
“You do.”
“I definitely don’t.”
“You muttered something about protein bars and condoms the last time you slept over.”
Holden’s cheeks get a little pink. “That could mean anything.”
“You also said, and I quote, ‘That wall is my friend.’”
He covers his face with one hand. “Okay, first of all, rude! That wall really is my friend. And second—”
I’m already laughing harder now, leaning against him again.
“And second,” he continues. “Don’t offend the wall. That wall knows things. It listens to me.”
“You’re just talking to yourself andthinkingthe wall listens.”
He makes a sound of disbelief. “Are you saying it’s not my friend?”
“I’m saying you have fewer friends than you think you do.”
“Ouch.” Holden turns his head toward me, eyes narrowed with fake suspicion. “You know what your problem is?”
“Oh, this should be good.”
He opens his mouth to say something, then pauses, turning to the side. “Shit, what was I going to say?”
I laugh hard, falling against his chest. Holden curls an arm around me, tugging the blanket dramatically.
I pinch him. “That’s for even thinking an insult.”
He tries to scramble backward across the couch, laughing the entire time, but I catch his arm and shove him down into the cushions.
Holden’s head drops back against the armrest, breathless laughter spilling out of him. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I grab one of the ugly throw pillows Hattie got for him and smack him with it.
He catches it, still laughing, and uses it to block himself while I try to wrestle it away. The couch shifts under us, legs tangling worse, and suddenly Holden’s flat on his back with me halfway sprawled over him trying to pry the pillow out of his hands.
“You fight dirty,” he says.
“You started this.”
“You attacked me!”
“Because you insulted me.”
“Not out loud!”
