The Gallagher house was loud tonight.

It always was — music blasting from someone’s phone, people yelling over each other, a half-empty pizza box on the kitchen counter and a beer someone had forgotten sweating onto the table. Fiona and Kev were arguing about something in the living room while Debbie tried to talk over them and Carl was laughing at something on TV.

You leaned against the back doorframe, arms crossed, pretending to watch the chaos like it was entertaining.

Really, you were waiting.

Lip stood at the kitchen table with Ian, both of them halfway through a conversation about something that sounded like college and engines and things you only half paid attention to. Being his twin meant you could practically hear the gears turning in his head sometimes.

Across the room, the front door creaked open.

Your eyes flicked up automatically.

Mickey Milkovich stepped inside like he owned the damn place — leather jacket, dark eyes scanning the room, that permanent scowl like the world personally offended him.

“Jesus, Milkovich,” Lip muttered without even turning around. “Don’t you ever knock?”

Mickey shrugged like he didn’t care, grabbing a beer from the fridge without asking. “It was open.”

Your heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he showed up.

No one noticed the way your gaze lingered on him.

No one noticed the way his eyes briefly flicked toward you.

That was the rule.

No one could know.

Because if Lip found out his twin sister was secretly dating Mickey Milkovich, there would probably be a fight bad enough to end with someone in the hospital.

Or jail.

Or both.

Mickey leaned against the counter, popping the cap off the beer with the edge of the table like he’d done it a thousand times. His posture was casual, but you knew him well enough now to see the tiny things no one else caught.

Like how he angled himself just slightly toward you.

Like how his eyes kept drifting back your way.

You pushed off the doorframe, grabbing a soda from the fridge just to give yourself an excuse to move closer. Your shoulder brushed his when you stepped past him.

It looked accidental.

But Mickey’s hand brushed yours for half a second.

Your pulse jumped.

“Watch it,” he muttered under his breath, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.

“Maybe stand somewhere else then,” you murmured back quietly.

Lip glanced over suddenly, suspicious eyes flicking between the two of you.

Your expression instantly went neutral.

Mickey took a long drink of his beer like he hadn’t said a word.

Lip frowned slightly, clearly trying to figure out what he’d just walked in on.

“Why the hell are you here anyway?” Lip asked.

Mickey shrugged again. “Ian.”

Ian, who had just walked into the room, rolled his eyes. “You could try texting like a normal person.”

“Phones break,” Mickey said simply.

You snorted softly, covering it with a sip of your drink.

Mickey’s eyes flicked to you again.

There was that look.

The one that made your stomach do somersaults.

A silent conversation passing between you.

Later.

Your fingers tapped once against the counter in response.

Okay.

No one else noticed.

To everyone else in the room, it just looked like Mickey Milkovich being his usual grumpy self and you standing nearby with a drink.

But the moment Lip turned back to Ian and the room got loud again, Mickey shifted just enough that his hand brushed the small of your back as he walked past you toward the hallway.

Quick.

Hidden.

Intentional.

Your breath caught.

And then a mutter in your ear, you heard Mickey’s low voice mutter just loud enough for you to hear—

“Bathroom. Five minutes.”

Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Like your heart wasn’t already racing at the thought.