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He’s practically sitting in my lap, so I shove his face back. "None of your business," I say, locking the screen and shoving the phone back into my pocket.

“That’s a yes. Did she ditch her boyfriend the same way you did the antichrist?”

My head falls back against the cushion, and I close my eyes. “I’m not buzzed enough for this.”

The cushion shifts under me, and I look up to see Colston’s gotten up off the couch and is heading back into the kitchen. “I can fix that.”

“We have a flight tomorrow.”

He freezes. “Oh, shit. That’s right.” He detours to a drawer in the island and pulls it open, grabbing a piece of paper. Then he shuts the drawer with his hip and brings it over to me, shoving it in front of my face. “Pick something. I’m buying lunch, and we’re going to talk strategy.”

I grab the paper, scanning over the menu for the restaurant downstairs. When I decide, I point to my pick and hand the menu back.

“Do I even want to know what you and I could possibly need a strategy for?”

Colston holds up his finger as he punches what I’m assuming is our order into his phone. When he’s done, he sets it aside and kicks his feet up onto the table.

“How you’re going to win over the girl. Duh.”

I shake my head. “It’s not like that. We’re… not like that.”

He gives me a flat look. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean it.”

He waves his hand in the direction of the pocket with my phone in it. “If you’re not like that,” he says, his voice going high-pitched as he mocks me and I flip him off, “then why did your face look like it did when you were texting… what’s her name again? Goldie?”

“Leave it alone, dude.”

He huffs and slumps back into the couch, folding his arms across his chest. “Fine.”

I start to breathe out a sigh of relief until he says, “For now.”

We spend the rest of the afternoon ignoring the massive crater that used to be my life. We eat our fancy as fuck food and sit on his terrible couch shooting the shit and playing Call of Duty until my eyes burn. And I text Goldie whenever Colston’s distracted.

He clears a drawer in his closet, and I manage to unpack enough of my duffel to feel like I’m not completely untethered from my own life.

I’m dead on my feet, but I need a shower, so I jump in and scrub as fast as I can. The hot water relaxes my sore muscles, but it’s bittersweet watching the dried sweat, salt, and scent of Goldie spiral down the drain.

I didn’t want to wash her away, but I can’t exactly walk around smelling like sex for days. That’d be fucking gross.

But once she’s off of me, I hate it and want her right back where it feels like she might belong.

I shake my head and turn off the water. I’m too exhausted to deal with this right now, and she’s right. Both our lives are so fucked there’s no room for anything more.

That doesn’t stop me from wanting to jump right back in with her, though.

I fall into Colston’s cloud-like bed, assuming I’ll be out in seconds.

But hours later, I’m still awake, flat on my back staring up at the dark ceiling. I built the pillow wall like I said I would. It lasted long enough for Colston to pass out before he smashed through it like the Kool-Aid Man.

Right now, he’s got one arm thrown over my chest and his face pressed into my shoulder. I think he’s drooling all over my t-shirt, but at least he doesn’t snore.

I’d shove him off, but he’d probably come right back. Plus—and I’d never admit this to him—it’s kind of nice, the warm weight of him. I’m not into dudes, so it’s just in an I’m not so alone sort of way.

That’s not gonna stop me from fucking with him, though. I carefully slide my phone off the nightstand, turn on night mode so I don’t have to use the flash, and snap a quick selfie of him cuddling up to me, drool and all.

I smirk as I set my phone back on the bedside table.