The next morning, I swore I was going to pretend last night never happened. Like… never. Ever. Happened.

Problem? Sugar.

The second she bounced into my room, tray in hand, eyes sparkling like she’d just been crowned Queen of the Sass Parade, I knew I was doomed.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, setting down my breakfast with unnecessary drama. “You look flustered.”

“I do not,” I snapped, yanking the covers higher. My cheeks were on fire. Stupid wolf, stupid hallway, stupid ...