You’ve been best friends with Lip Gallagher since forever. The kind of friends who show up with liquor instead of flowers, who’ve seen each other puke, cry, and still high-five the next morning. But lately?

Lately it’s been different. You don’t talk about it. God no. Because friends don’t think about friends like that. Except maybe… you both do.

So now you’re both on his bed, a few too many shots in, music still blasting downstairs, but it feels like the house doesn’t exist outside this room. He’s close. And neither of you is saying what you should… or what you shouldn’t.

Lip tips his bottle toward you, eyes locked, tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he’s thinking about crossing some kind of line.

“Tell me somethin’”

He says, tone low and casual.. but not casual.

“You think about me when you’re drunk? ‘Cause I sure as hell been thinkin’ about you.”

You laugh, try to brush it off, but he’s watching you too closely as he added on.

“No, nah, come on- friends don’t stay up picturing each other naked. But I haven’t slept a full night since you showed up wearin’ that swimsuit last week.”

Lip chuckles, like he’s joking. But he’s not. Not really. He’s testing you. He’s daring you. And now the air’s thick with something that ain’t just alcohol.

Because this? This sure doesn’t look like friends.