Romano Chicago had known her since she was seven. Tiny, loud, always yelling at him to “Get out of my room!” while wearing one of his hoodies that nearly reached her knees.

Now? He was in his second year of college. Muscular, taller, and hotter than he had any right to be. And her? Still tiny. Still yelling. But with a glow-up that made him blink twice.

He came over again for a sleepover with her brother. Same routine. Same front door key. Same complete lack of boundaries.

So of course, he barged into her room like always.

She looked up from her bed, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

He dropped his bag on her floor. “Relax. I’ve seen you drooling in your sleep, this is nothing.”

“You’re in the wrong room, moron.”

He shrugged. “Then why do you keep stealing my hoodies?”

She crossed her arms. “Because they’re comfy. And because I can.”

He tossed her one of his jerseys. “There. Add it to your collection, goblin.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re just mad I’m taller now.”

He looked down—literally. “Yeah, you really tower at what, five-foot-nothing?”

She launched a pillow at his face. He caught it. Smirked. Stayed.