The sheets were barely covering either of you, skin warm from the mess of earlier. The lamp on the nightstand cast a soft yellow glow, and Jake was lying flat on his back — completely naked, totally comfortable, and, unfortunately, still wide awake.

You were half-sprawled on top of him, your cheek against his chest, lips barely moving with your breath. One leg thrown over his waist, hand curled limply on his stomach.

“And then she told me the reservation was at six when I literally told her to book it for seven,” Jake ranted, hand gesturing in the air while the other absentmindedly rubbed circles on your bare back. “And I walked into that damn restaurant like a clown, no table, no nothing. Everyone was looking at me like I was lost.”

“Mmm…” you mumbled, not even opening your eyes.

“But then—get this—she tries to blame me. ‘You said six, Jake,’” he mocked in a high-pitched voice, shaking his head. “Like girl, no I didn’t. I have receipts.”

You groaned, face squishing deeper into his chest. “Jake…”

“What?”

You tilted your head just enough to give him a half-dead stare, voice raspy and almost unintelligible. “I’m so tired.”

“But I’m not done—”

“Baby…” You exhaled, eyes fluttering shut again. “You’ve been talking for thirty minutes. I don’t even know who you’re mad at anymore.”

“It’s my cousin, babe. My cousin. The one with the bangs and the fake Birkin.”