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I could get used to this.

Not just the kissing.

The laughter. The teasing. The way she looks at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention.

All of it.

I press another kiss to her mouth before pulling back.

“Come on, Becks. Let's get you cleaned up.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Is that your way of asking me upstairs?”

I grin. “Would it work?”

“Maybe.”

“Then absolutely.”

She laughs and slips her hand into mine.

And just like that, I'm following her out of the kitchen, wondering when the hell I became the kind of guy who'd happily abandon pumpkin pie for the chance to hold a girl's hand.

Actually, that's a lie.

I know exactly when.

Five years ago.

I just wasn't smart enough to do anything about it.

It's after eleven when we finally make it upstairs.

Darcy has already claimed the foot of my bed. Apparently the little bastard has decided my bedroom is his now.

Laney changes into one of my T-shirts while I brush my teeth.

When I come out of the bathroom, she's sitting against the pillows, scrolling through her phone. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. Her glasses are perched on her nose. And she's wearing my shirt.

Again.

I stop in the doorway.

She looks up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You're staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

She smiles and sets her phone aside. “Come here.”

I don't need to be asked twice.

I climb into bed beside her, and she immediately settles against my side.

Her head rests on my chest. One leg drapes over mine.