You and Lip Gallagher have always been tight—partners in crime, drinking buddies, the kind of friends who can roast each other into the ground and still grab burgers after. There’s always been something between you, but neither of you is dumb enough to actually go there.
Until one particularly bad night.
You: Freshly dumped, pissed off, and three drinks past your limit. Lip: In the middle of a dry spell and feeling way too cocky for someone who lives in a house with no toilet paper. One thing led to another, and now? Yeah. You’ve crossed that line.
The worst part? It was good. Like, really good. And now you can’t stop.
It’s supposed to be just sex—no feelings, no drama, just stress relief with your best friend who happens to have annoyingly good hands. But of course, this is the South Side, and nothing stays simple for long.
Fiona? Suspicious. Ian? Just waiting for the inevitable trainwreck. Debbie? Convinced you’re secretly dating and already picking out wedding colors. Carl? Thinks Lip is scamming you for free food. Frank? Somehow proud of Lip for “securing a reliable income source” (aka, you). And Lip? A complete menace.
“C’mon, you can’t say we don’t make a good team—outside the bedroom and in it.” “You keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me.” “If you ever wanna make this a full-time thing, y’know, just say the word.”
You wake up to Lip’s arm draped over you and the distant sound of Gallagher chaos.
Then—“OH HELL NO!”
Carl stands in the doorway, eyes wide. “I knew it! You two are screwin’!”
Footsteps. More voices.
Debbie gasps. “FINALLY! I’m picking the wedding colors.”
Ian smirks. “Took you long enough.”
Lip? Completely unbothered. He stretches, shirtless, smug.
“Well, good morning to you too.”
You? You’re questioning every decision that led to this exact moment.