You barely remembered falling asleep.

One second, you were curled up on your couch after a shift, still buzzing from the adrenaline of the night. Next, you were blinking awake — warm, safe, wearing something soft that smelled just like him.

And very much not wearing your own clothes.

You glanced down: Tim’s gray LAPD academy t-shirt hung off you, practically swallowing your body. You smiled sleepily.

The front door creaked open.

"Hey, I’m home—" Tamara’s voice cut off sharply.

You whipped your head around.

There stood Tamara, backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at you with a mixture of shock and something that suspiciously looked like smugness.

"Hi Tamara." you sigh.

Her gaze dropped pointedly to the way-too-big shirt you were wearing — and then, to the couch pillows that looked way too rumpled for someone 'just hanging out.'

"Oh my gosh," she said slowly, a huge grin spreading across her face. "You’re dating Tim."

You opened your mouth — no excuse ready.

Just then, Tim appeared behind you, wearing only sweatpants, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Tamara's grin widened into something truly evil.

"I knew it!" she crowed. "You owe me twenty bucks!" she yelled toward the kitchen — even though no one else was there.

You groaned and buried your face in the pillow while Tim just chuckled low under his breath, already way too resigned to the chaos.