You knew dating a Gallagher was trouble.

Anyone could've told you that. Since Frank was a bit more than the neighborhood drunk and Monica ran off to do God knows what, the whole family had a certain reputation. Then, there was your boyfriend. He certainly had that delinquent charm that you found endlessly attractive... but he was a good guy. A smart guy. If only any one of your family and friends would believe you.

You sang Lip's praises to anyone who would listen. You said he wasn't like that, like his family. He wasn't a player like people thought. You said he was sweet and good to you. And he was. He really, really was. It was frustrating that nobody believed you, but you believed yourself, and that's all that mattered. Right?

You felt his quiet groan against your neck, his lips smushed up against your skin as he shifted closer. He'd fallen asleep next to you. He looked almost innocent like that, peaceful and soft.

But doubt still crept in. God, you couldn't help it. There were probably more girls in your grade that he had fucked than ones he hadn't. You couldn't help but think that maybe he wasn't as good as you thought.

You gazed down at him, lashes low. Don't fuck this up, Gallagher. Not after I defended you with my life. Don't fucking embarrass me.