7

The walk back home is quiet and full of thoughts. Thoughts about Lip.Maybe I do like him.

But I'm sure he doesn't like me—not like that. He's not exactly known for taking things slow.

Except... he has been.

He's been careful. Thoughtful. Like he's trying not to mess this up. And that's what's messing with me. I've never had a guy who didn't like me go out of his way like this. Honestly, even my friends don't treat me the way Lip does.

When I get inside, the house is quiet. There's a note on the table, written in my dad's messy handwriting:

Hey,Me and the boys are staying the night at my house.We're gonna check out some houses in the morning.I can pick you up if you want.There's $50 on the table—order you and your not-boyfriend dinner.

– Dad

I laugh and pick up the bill.

Not-boyfriend, huh. Okay, Dad.

I pull out my phone.

Me: hey, you busy right now?Lip Gallagher: no, what's up?Me: come over. i'm ordering takeout.Lip Gallagher: see you in 10.

I set my phone down and suddenly feel like I need to clean the whole house. I settle for lighting a candle and brushing my hair with my fingers. Not that it matters. Not like that.

He knocks ten minutes later, just like he said.

"Hey," I say, opening the door.

"Hey," he says back, a little smile tugging at his mouth. He steps inside without asking, comfortable already.

"Hope you're in the mood for garbage Chinese food."

"Always."

We sit on the couch with cartons between us, flipping through TV channels without really watching anything. The food's good. The silence is better. Comfortable.

At some point, he leans back, stretching. His arm lands behind me on the couch—not touching, but close.

I glance over at him. "Subtle."

"What?" he says, feigning innocence. "Just stretching."

"Uh-huh."

He smirks, then says, "You know, you could make the first move if you wanted."

I arch an eyebrow. "Who says I want to?"

"Oh, you don't?" He leans a little closer. "Because that whole 'come over, I'm ordering takeout' text? Definitely gave off 'please come kiss me' energy."

I scoff. "You're so full of yourself."

He grins wider. "Am I wrong, though?"

I roll my eyes. "I just didn't want to eat alone."

"So you called me?" he asks, cocking his head. "Out of everyone?"

I pause. "You were the only one I felt like being around."

Something shifts in his expression. Just a little. He's not smiling anymore.

"Yeah?" he says, quieter now.

I nod. "Yeah."

And then he's not waiting anymore.

He leans in, slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to. I don't.

His lips brush mine, soft and warm and unhurried.

When he pulls back, his voice is low. "Just so we're clear... I want this. You."

"We're not dating," I murmur, still close enough to feel his breath on my skin.

He smiles. "Yet."

I don't argue.

Instead, I pull him back in.

This time, I kiss him first.

His lips are soft, but there's heat there—coiled up just beneath the surface like he's been waiting for this.

When I kiss him again, his hand slips under my shirt, warm against my skin. I shift closer until I'm practically straddling him, my fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"You sure?" he murmurs against my jaw, voice low and rough.

"If you stop now, I might actually kill you."

He grins against my skin. "Noted."

He lifts my shirt slowly, like he's giving me time to stop him—but I don't. I raise my arms, and it's gone.

His mouth is on me again, and it's deeper this time. Hungrier. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my back, my hips. I start tugging at the hem of his hoodie, and he practically yanks it over his head.

I can feel everything—his breath, his pulse, the way his body molds into mine like we were always meant to fit this way.

He presses me back against the cushions, one knee sliding between my thighs, and suddenly it's not just flirting anymore.

It's real.

My hand slips under the waistband of his jeans just as he pulls back to look at me, eyes dark, pupils blown wide—

BANG BANG BANG.

"Erin! Open up! It's Debbie! It's an emergency!"

We both freeze.

Lip's head drops to my shoulder with a groan. "Of course it is."

I blink, still breathless. "Ignore her."

"Trust me, I want to," he mutters, voice muffled in my neck.

BANG BANG BANG.

"I swear to God, Lip, I know you're in there! And Erin, if you don't answer the door, I'm climbing in the damn window!"

That gets him to sit up fast. "Jesus, Debbie!"

I grab the throw blanket and wrap it around myself as Lip reaches for his hoodie, already fuming. "If she's not bleeding or on fire, I'm kicking her ass."

He yanks the door open mid-sentence. "Debbie, what the f—"

She pushes past him like he's not even there, out of breath and wide-eyed. "Okay, I know you're gonna be mad, but it's not that bad, and we can fix it, but I kind of maybe—accidentally—set the kitchen on fire. Just a little."

I blink. "What?"

She sees me on the couch, disheveled, flushed, wrapped in a blanket—and finally her brain catches up.

"Oh. Oh my God. Were you guys—oh." Her face goes pale. "Wait. Ew. Were you guys seriously about to—"

Lip points toward the door. "Nope. Not having this conversation. Out."

"Wait! I need help! The fire's out but the smoke alarm won't shut up and Carl tried to hit it with a broom and broke the light fixture and now there's glass everywhere and—"

"Out, Debbie."

"Okay but can Erin come help? She's, like, responsible."

I sigh, grabbing my shirt and pulling it back on. "Give me five minutes."

Debbie turns and heads back toward the street like she didn't just blow up the single most intense moment of my entire life.

Lip closes the door behind her and locks it.

We stand there for a second, just breathing.

"She's dead," he mutters. "I'm going to kill her. I'll bury her in the backyard."

I smirk, walking over to him. "You really think we were gonna get through one moment without a Gallagher interrupting?"

He shrugs. "A man can dream."

I reach up and kiss him again—quick, soft. "To be continued?"

"Oh, definitely."

He pulls me in one last time before he heads off to help clean up whatever disaster his siblings have caused now.