Aria

"Can we just say no to the study group?" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Erica didn’t even look up. Pen jammed in her messy bun, caffeine practically vibrating out of her pores. “If that were an option,” she said, voice dry, “we’d all be watching Netflix in bed with greasy takeout and no regrets.”

I would’ve been doing exactly that. In my penthouse. Probably wrapped in one of Grant’s shirts, listening to his voice somewhere in the house. Instead, I was ...