”You going to kick me out again?” Isaac mops at my back with a tissue until he cleans up most of his hot mess. He rolls up on his side and brushes the matted curls off my sweaty forehead, then flicks my nose.

I frown at him. ”Not just yet. You hungry?” He nods. I climb out of bed and reach for my pajamas—I’ve got a ratty college t-shirt and mesh shorts stationed near my bed—when I remember that all his clothes are in my washer. ...