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I duck out of sight to the left of the doorway, flattening myself to the wall like a spy.

“Is someone here?” Treyvon asks. “Delaney, you old dog. You had company and you didn’t tell me? Here I am yacking up a blue streak and you’ve got company.”

I’m practically holding my breath.

“Cass, is that you?” Trey shouts.

“No!” I shout back.

My hand flies up to my mouth.

“Ooooh, man. You’re not Cass?” Trey says. He obviously knows it’s me now. “I’m going to tell on whoever you are to my girl, Cass!” He laughs and then says, “Come out from hiding.”

I slowly peel myself off the wall and straighten my spine, walking into the kitchen like I own the place. “Morning, gentlemen. I’ll just grab my phone and get out of your way.”

“Nawww,” Trey says. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, darlin’. It’s breakfast time and a man who has a sleepover needs to feed you in the morning.”

Marcus and I practically trip over one another with our answers.

“I didn’t …”

“It wasn’t …”

“We didn’t have a sleepover,” I say.

Trey crosses his arms. “That so? Did you just wake up, throw on a leather skirt and a jersey that’s five times too big for you and drive over in … socks?”

“I did sleep here,” I say, jutting my chin just the slightest. “It just wasn’t a sleepover.”

The memories come back slowly. Marcus fell asleep too. And I was curled into him on the couch. He woke at some point and said something about a bedroom. I grunted and went back to sleep. I vaguely remember him tucking the throw blanket around me.

I grunted! Groggy, half-asleep grunting. Yay, me! I bet I was drooling too. I want to evaporate like a morning mist off the Smokies. Better yet, I’ll abscond to the Smokies and live in a rustic cabin for the rest of my days where I can grunt and drool in private.

Treyvon seems to still be dead set on roasting us.

“Ahhhh,” he says. “Well, that’s clear as mud. You slept at your boyfriend’s house. And it wasn’t a sleepover. Mm hmmm. Well, whatever you two got up to, it was an all-night event and you’re here, so he’s feeding you. Am I right, Delaney?”

Marcus finds his voice. “Definitely. Stay for breakfast, Cass.”

What can I say? Our eyes lock and Marcus smiles softly at me.

Maybe he was too sleep-addled to remember drooling, growling Cass.

My heart says, I’ll stay. How long do you want me here? Forever’s good.

I ignore all that and ask, “What can I do?”

I need to find something to keep me busy and to take my mind off the way Marcus is looking at me as if I’m his actual girlfriend waking up in his home with his jersey on.

“Sit,” he says. “I’ve got fresh orange juice. Unless you start your day with lemonade.”

“Orange juice is fine,” I say, taking the stool next to Treyvon.

Marcus pours me a glass of juice and when he brings it over, he plants a kiss on top of my head—for Treyvon’s sake, obviously. He places his hands on my shoulders, standing behind me and caging me in.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

“Too well,” I tell him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”