“You’re staring.”

Lip leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed behind his head, watching you with that lazy smirk of his. His shirt was missing—again—and you were pretending that didn’t bother you.

“I’m not staring,” you shot back, sitting cross-legged on his bed, picking at the frayed edges of your hoodie. “I’m just wondering how someone can have abs but still eat gas station hot dogs like they’re gourmet.”

Lip huffed a laugh, running a hand through his messy curls. “Genetics, sweetheart. Sorry you weren’t blessed.”

You gasped dramatically. “Excuse me? I could have abs if I wanted.”

“Oh yeah?” He propped himself up on his elbows, raising a brow. “Go on then. Let’s see.”

Your cheeks burned. “I—I didn’t say I have them, just that I could.”

Lip chuckled, shaking his head. “Uh-huh. You just like running your mouth.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, but the moment you did, his smirk darkened. “Careful, sweetheart. You stick that out at me again, and I might get ideas.”

Your whole body went warm. “What kind of ideas?”

Lip leaned forward, gaze dropping to your lips, voice low and teasing. “Ones you’re too innocent to handle.”