But then, she shakes her head, breaking the moment, and stabs at her ice cream with her spoon. “Yeah, well, we’ll see if I can actually make it happen. Gotta survive Algebra 111 first.”
I chuckle, nudging her knee again. “I don’t know how you’ve made it this far without basic math skills, honestly.”
She huffs, crossing her arms. “I’m creative, hotshot. I don’t have time for numbers.”
I shake my head, grinning. “You should let me help you study more.”
She groans dramatically, slumping back against the cushions. “I knew you were going to say that.”
I smirk, leaning in a little. “One Twix bar per hour of tutoring. It’s a fair deal.”
She laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that hits me like a punch to the gut—light, real, the kind I haven’t heard enough of in the last few years.
“Fine,” she mutters. “But if I fail, I’m still dropping out and becoming a trophy wife.”
I let my gaze flicker over her, slow and deliberate. “Don’t think you’d last, Mads. Too stubborn.”
She narrows her eyes. “Okay, rude.”
I grin, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. “Just saying. You’d get bored as hell.”
She huffs but doesn’t argue. Yeah, I know I’m right. Madison Blake was never meant for a life of sitting still. She was made for music and passion and something bigger.
I glance at her again as she curls up under the blanket, her spoon scraping the bottom of her ice cream carton, her hair falling loose from her bun.
For the first time in a long time, I think she might actually believe in something again.
Maybe even herself.
I lean back, smirking as I press play on the movie.
But I don’t really pay attention to it.
All I can think about is the girl sitting beside me and the fact that—no matter how many years pass, no matter how much changes—she still makes my world feel lighter too.
A soft noise pulls me from sleep.
I shift slightly, my arm tightening where it’s draped across the back of the couch. My body is warm, my head resting back against the cushions—and then, I realize why.
Madison is still curled against me.
She’s completely knocked out, her hand tucked under her chin, her face pressed lightly against my chest. And me? I fell asleep too.
Before I can process that thought, another voice—not Madison’s—cuts through the room.
"Oooo, what do we have here?"
My eyes blink open fully as Lyla smirks down at me.
Shit.
She’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, a very satisfied look on her face.
"Are you watching us sleep? That’s weird, Lyla," I mutter, my voice rough with sleep.
"No, what’s weird is that Madison Blake voluntarily let a man stay in her apartment for more than an hour," she counters, grinning. "Should I start wedding planning?"
I roll my eyes, careful not to jostle Madison too much as I stretch. "Shut up, Lyla."
