Page 172 of The Friend Situation

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CARLEE

“Carlee,” Weston whispers in my ear, his arm still wrapped around me.

“Yes?” My eyes bolt open, and I roll to face him, realizing the sun is rising. “You shouldn’t be in here. My grandma will lose her shit if she catches you.”

“She’s already awake. I just heard her in the kitchen, making coffee.”

“You have to go,” I whisper urgently. “Put on your clothes. I need to sneak you out of here.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am!” I hiss, sliding out of bed. “Don’t get on her bad side this early.”

He chuckles, standing to grab his joggers.

“They all treat me like I’m a delicate flower. I’m not even the youngest in the family.” I slip on my shorts and the oversized T-shirt.

Just as Weston moves toward me, he slams his mouth against mine, leaving me breathless. I want to stay here just like this for the rest of the day.

“I can’t get enough,” he says.

As we pull away, the door cracks open, prompting me to push Weston behind it.

“Hi, Mawmaw. Good morning!” I call out, holding the door with my foot to keep her from pushing her way inside and discovering him.

I let out a fake yawn and suddenly feel like a teenager again, sneaking around so Mawmaw doesn’t lose her shit. Weston remains frozen, his gaze locked on me.

“Mornin’, honey. Making coffee. Should I wake Weston?”

“No, no. Just let him sleep in. I’m sure he’ll join us soon. He’s a light sleeper,” I say, lowering my voice to a whisper.

She nods. “I had a dream that you got married.”

“Mawmaw, we’ve been engaged for a day and a half,” I reply, trying not to roll my eyes.

I know how she loves meddling in relationships. She’s the matchmaking queen. I learned from the best.

“No time like the present, Leelee. Besides, I’m not getting any younger, and traveling to the city is tough on my old, weary bones. You two are clearly in love, so why wait?”

She winks at me before walking toward her sewing room, pausing at Weston’s door. When she walks past it, I let out a relieved breath, then quickly close the door.

“Want to get married soon.” He waggles his brows.

“Stop.” I glare at him. “If you didn’t know after last night, Mawmaw is one hundred percent Team Weston.”

“So are you,” he mutters, smirking.

He leans in, stealing another kiss.

As he moves away, I pull him back to me. “You make me weak, Weston. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“It goes both ways,” he replies just as Mawmaw whistles, walking past the bedroom door and back toward the kitchen.

“I have to go. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” he says.

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