“Nah, stay,” Wit said, his eyes fluttering open. His impossibly turquoise eyes. “I promise I won’t call you baby again.” I felt pinpricks on my neck. Had it really been that obvious? How much it had bothered me? “That’s what Shithead called you,” Wit said. “Isn’t it?” “Shithead’s name is Ben,” I replied, sighing. “And it was more babe than baby.” “Ben? I like Shithead better.” “Me too, actually.” I laughed and stretched out next to him. Not close enough for us to touch but more than comfortable enough to fall asleep. The sheets and pillows smelled like the sea and citrus. “Oranges,” I
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