"So you're telling me I look like shit?" I finally laughed despite the sharp pain in my throat, not at all insulted by what he was implying. There was no way I didn't look the way I felt: like a big, old pile of poo.

His palm stroked my arm. "You don't exactly look your best, Princess, but you're still pretty," he offered me.

I smacked his hand off and laughed, attempting to roll away from him.

Sacha laughed louder, slipping an arm under my body and pulling me over. Part of the way onto him. "Quit fishing for compliments. You're still pretty." He crushed me to his bouncing, entertained chest. His other arm finished the circle around me, my breasts pressed against his ribs, the side of my head meeting his pec.

"All I hear is blah, blah, blah," I laughed into the soft material of his red

hoodie, ignoring the sirens going off in my head and the way my heart so suddenly pounded in my chest at his proximity. This wasn’t what friends did. This was absolutely not what friends did. But I sure as hell wasn’t moving or saying something to ruin the moment.

He squeezed me to him tighter. "You're a pain in the ass."

"Like you’re one to talk."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping or something? Isn't that what people do when they're sick?"

I nodded against him. "Yeah, but there's this annoying guy that likes to hang out in my room and keep me up every night."

"What an asshole," he hissed, shaking his head as he said it.

"I know, right?" I laughed.

Sacha tilted his head down so that his lips were so close to my forehead I could feel their heat. "Want me to leave?"

As if there was another possible answer. "No."

He didn't say anything, but I felt him start wiggling his way down the bed. "I'll wait until you start to fall asleep, then."

"Okay."

We sat there quietly with the television so low it just sounded like a whisper in the background, until, "Hush, little baby, don't say a word—"

"What are you doing?" I started laughing hoarsely.

"I'm singing you a lullaby to put you to sleep," he said.

I shifted just a little in his arms, tucking myself into his warmth and ignoring the voice in my head that said friends really didn’t do this kind of stuff. "Okay, continue."

His chest moved with silent laughter. "Sacha's gonna buy you a mockingbird—" I snorted, trying to cover it. His chest shook more but it didn't break his song's stride. If anything his sweet, beautiful voice got a little louder. "And if that mockingbird won't sing, Sacha's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

Chapter Eighteen

"Flabby, why don't you dress like that?" Mason asked.

We'd been sitting in this karaoke bar for all of fifteen minutes. Half of the guys at the table had been staring at the same two girls for fourteen out of fifteen of those minutes. The other half of them were busy chugging down as much beer as they possibly could as quickly as possible. Today was Julian's birthday, and the guy apparently had a healthy, amorous relationship with karaoke. Go figure.

I didn’t even bother looking in the direction of the two women because I'd checked them out ten minutes ago. In skirts that showed more ass than my underwear do, and with shirts that plunged so deep I'm surprised nipples weren't laser beaming all over the place, I was completely uninterested. If I wanted to look at boobs, I’d look at Lucy and Ethel in the mirror.

"Like a prostitute?" I asked him, taking a sip of water.

Mason leaned into me from his spot on my right and nodded. "Ye-ah," he pretty much hissed it out with way too much enthusiasm.