The first thing I notice when the sun wakes me is that the bed has grown cold. There’s a vacancy inside me that wasn’t there last night, a gaping void in my being where something vital should have been. When I roll over with a groan and pat the sheets next to me, I find them empty. No warmth, like I’ve been here alone for a while. If it weren’t for the button stuck to the side of my face from ripping Huck’s shirt, I would have believed that last night was a fever dream. The words he’d said when I asked him if we were doing this thing between us pop into my head. Ask me again in the morning. I
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