Isla

18.

1 8 | m a r l e y

MY HEAD WAS POUNDING.

Light was streaming through the windows – so bright that it crushed my head, even with my eyes shut – and my mouth tasted like pure shit. I groaned squeezing my eyes further shut, as if it could block out the light and my headache anymore. I moved to drag a hand up and shield the light, only to feel it pinned beneath something heavy.

I strained my eyes open, blinking through the blur of sleep to see a face an inch from mine.

A face with high cheekbones and a straight nose, a mess of brown hair flattened against his forehead.

Everett.

My eyes widened and I fought to keep still. He was asleep, his lips parted, and eyes closed.

I felt my face grow hot as the realisation fully hit me then – that me and Everett were lying in a bed together. I furrowed my brow, straining hard to remember what had happened last night.

There was a party... a bonfire... Mia... and then what? I couldn't remember, and my pounding headache definitely didn't help.

Thankfully, I was still wearing my clothes. I could feel the uncomfortable scratch of it against my skin, as well as Everett's t-shirt pressed on top of my numb arm.

We were barely an inch apart and fear rippled through me, knowing that if I moved, I'd probably stir him awake. Instead, I settled gently back into the mattress and scanned his face.

He looked so peaceful while asleep, his usual scowl missing and replaced with a hint of an innocent smile. His hair was a mess and I felt the urge to push it back over his forehead. He'd become a lot more tanned since he first came here, with freckles beginning to spot over the bridge of his nose, and I felt a surge of pride – I'd been the cause of that.

It was like a symbol – like something to show that I had an effect on him, on his life, even if it was something so miniscule as a tan.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open and I jolted in surprise, my arm jerking beneath him.

He blinked, meeting my stare, and we watched each other in silence for a minute. Then, his arm was lifting, and his fingers were wrapping around a loose curl in front of my face. His skin brushed my forehead as he tugged on it lightly.

I warmed, opening my mouth to say something, but then his hand was letting go of the hair and trailing down my cheek. The curl sprung back up, and his lips twitched in quiet amusement, his face turning pink. His touch was so soft, so gentle, sliding across my face to finally cover my mouth with a finger.

"Shh," he whispered, and it felt so intimate that a shiver ran down my spine. "They're sleeping."

He nodded slightly to the end of the bed and I craned my neck to see Connor and River sleeping on the floor in front of us. They were blacked out, probably from drinking enough to destroy a liver last night. I suspected that even if I made a sound, they wouldn't stir an inch.

They piled on top of each other – a mess of limbs and snores. Connor's t-shirt had disappeared somewhere, and I had to stifle a laugh. River would freak out when he woke up.

I turned back to Everett to find him already watching me, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"What happened last night?" I whispered.

He quirked a brow. "You don't remember, Monroe?"

"No." I flushed, rolling my eyes. "Obviously not, if I'm asking you."