Most girls would be jealous of Calliope Draycott. She seemingly has it all. The friends, the money, the boyfriend, and in a few years, if all goes to plan, she'll have the job too. So why doesn't she feel happy? It's after a disastrous family dinner...
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We're in the same position we were in when we fell asleep. The only difference is that instead of my hand being on her hip on top of the leggings she'd decided to sleep in, it's underneath them.
Yesterday feels surreal.
Ma got the job which means I don't have to get a second job and I can finally get back to a normal routine again.
Ma got the job because Caia told her about it - and I wouldn't put it past her to have put in a good word on her behalf.
Isaac opened the door wearing just a towel, and I thought that whatever was going on between Caia and I was over, until she ran out in the rain, barefoot, and wouldn't leave me alone until we talked things out.
Then the kisses. That's the most surreal part. As wonderful as it is to wake up to her, that's something I'm slowly getting used to - but something I will always be grateful for - but her kisses, I don't think I can ever get used to them.
They're like a drug, and one was all it took to get me hooked on her for the rest of my life. It's unhealthy, how attached I am to her already.
Because if she calls this thing between us off, I don't know what I'll do.
She stirs in my arms and it's then that I notice that I've been drawing patterns on her hip since I woke up. As she stretches, her eyes still not open yet, she lets out a quiet moan before she settles down again.
'That feels good,' she says, her lips moving against the skin on my chest and sending a shiver through my spine.
She arches her back, and my hand falls from her hip to a bit lower down. 'Whoops,' she says sleepily, but with the grin she has on her face I know it was far from an accident.
I stop the movement of my hand, and when a small pout appears on her face, it just confirms my suspicions that she's started something this morning. So, when she opens her eyes, and her mouth, probably to ask me why I stopped tracing her skin, I move so that her back is against the mattress and I'm hovering over her.
Her brown hair, which is slightly wavy - and a mess of knots - from where it's dried in our sleep, is splayed across her pillow and her eyes show no signs of being tired.
There's no way that "whoops" was an accident.
I press a kiss against her neck and her hands go to my back, and she runs her nails against it , 'don't start something you can't finish,' I warn, because we're supposed to be taking it slow.
But there is something in her eyes that says that might be going out the window - then she raises an eyebrow. 'Oh, don't worry,' she says, 'I always finish what I start.'
