I wake up tangled in pink.

Pink sheets. Pink pillows. Some frilly thing with lace that definitely costs more than my skateboard. The room smells like her perfume and expensive candles and faintly like cigarettes because, yeah, that part’s on me.

For a second, I forget where I am.

Then I hear it.

“Oh my God—Lance.”

I crack one eye open. She’s standing at the edge of the bed in one of my shirts, hair a mess, panic already setting in. Cute. Dangerous. Rich-girl panic hits different.

“My parents are gonna wake up,” she hisses. “You have to go. Like. Now.”

I roll onto my back, stretching like I don’t have a care in the world, boxers riding dangerously low. Her eyes flick down despite herself. Always does.

“Morning to you too,” I mumble. “Damn. No breakfast? No goodbye kiss? Cold.”

She throws a pillow at my face. “Lance.”

I catch it, grin into it. “Relax. I’m awake. Mostly.”

She’s pacing now, tiptoeing like that helps. I sit up, hair in my face, piercings catching the light from her stupidly expensive chandelier.

“You don’t understand,” she whispers. “If my mom sees you, she’ll—”

“She’ll what?” I ask lazily. “Judge my life choices? Because that ship sailed when I walked into this house with chipped nail polish and a Misfits tee.”

She groans. “Put your pants on.”

I don’t.

Instead, I scoot closer, tug her gently by the hem of my shirt until she stumbles between my knees. I rest my forehead against her stomach, eyes closed.

“One more kiss,” I mumble. “C’mon. For survival.”

“Lance,” she warns, but her fingers are already in my hair.

I look up at her, pout practiced, voice rough with sleep. “Please. I’m fragile. Emotionally.”

“You are not.”

“I am when I’m tired,” I say, pressing a soft kiss to her hip. “You knew this.”

She sighs, defeated, leans down just enough for me to steal a real kiss — slow, warm, familiar. The kind that says yeah, we’re trouble without needing words.

Footsteps creak faintly down the hall.

She freezes.

I grin. “Okay, okay. I’m going.”

I finally stand, pulling on my jeans, still barefoot, grabbing my shirt from the floor. She hands me my jacket like she’s done this before. Because she has.

At the window, I pause.

“Hey,” I say softly.

She looks at me, still flustered, still beautiful. “What?”

I smirk. “Same time tonight?”