Davina's POV

Tasha was sprawled out across my bed, eating a slice of homemade pizza from the open box I’d been ignoring while I packed.

She was supposed to be helping me get ready to leave.

But she seemed more content to just “supervise.” Which, in Tasha’s world, meant talking smack.

“I wish you’d told me all of this before,” she remarked, slurping up a strand of cheese. “I mean, really, you’re way more interesting than I thought.”

“Gee, thanks.” I rolled up an old ...