A thud at my window sends my heart into overdrive. Every instinct screams intruder, and before I know it, I’m scrambling upright in bed, clutching Lila—my not-so-menacing fluffball of a dog—in one hand and wielding a pillow in the other like some kind of makeshift weapon. My heart’s hammering so loud I’m sure whoever’s creeping around out there can hear it, and honestly, the fact that Lila is barely stirring is not helping my confidence.

Then the shadowy figure slips through the window, and I brace myself, eyes narrowed, pillow raised, ready to… well, do something.

And then the figure steps into the dim light, and I finally get a good look at the face.

Jason.

He’s standing there like he hasn’t just given me a mini heart attack, looking all smug and casual, like this is his room he’s sauntered into. As if he didn’t just vanish without a word for four whole weeks. And as if I’m not standing here clutching Lila like she’s about to morph into some heroic guard dog.

“Were you planning to throw that fat-ass dog at me?” he asks, lips quirking up in a grin that’s somehow both infuriating and stupidly attractive.

The sarcasm is too much, and before I can stop myself, the pillow goes sailing right at his face.