Page 106 of High Hopes

I snort. “Right. Such a humanitarian, keeping your talents to yourself.”

“It’s a heavy burden. You wouldn’t understand.”

I grab the nearest pillow and chuck it at him. He catches it one-handed, like it’s nothing, and tosses it right back. We’re both laughing when a muffled thud and low grunts come from the other side of the wall. Liam freezes mid-throw, tilting his head like a confused golden retriever.

“Is that Warren?” I ask, sitting up straighter.

He squints at the wall. “Sounds like he’s wrestling a bear.”

We both stay silent for a minute, listening intently. Warren’s been living with Liam for three months now, and I’ve barely gotten to know him. He’s like a silent enigma—gruff and intense, with this perpetual storm-cloud expression that makes connection feel impossible.

I’ve seen him exactly twice outside of this apartment: once heading to the gym with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and another time at the coffee shop, ordering a medium black coffee in the flattest monotone I’ve ever heard.

“Warren, buddy, you good?” Liam calls, just loud enough to carry. There’s another beat of silence and then—faintly—laughter. A girl’s laughter.

My eyes go wide. Liam’s expression mirrors mine, and for a second, we’re just sitting there, locked in stunned disbelief.

I didn’t even know Warren was capable of being intimate with anyone. He’s so closed off, like he’s built an impenetrable wall around himself. The idea of him laughing with someone, let alone sharing something as vulnerable as this . . .

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

“Yup.” Liam’s lips twitch. “Not a bear.”

We sit there, frozen in some weird mix of horror and amusement, until we hear footsteps—two sets, hurried and unsteady—followed by the front door slamming shut. Liam raises an eyebrow at me, and I clap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“Well,” he says after a moment. “Guess we mind our own business now.”

“I feel bad. He just . . . left.”

“Good for him,” Liam says. “Man’s got his priorities straight.”

I stare at him for a moment, processing everything before an idea strikes. “Come here,” I say, grabbing his hand. My voice dips, teasing, like I’m about to share some grand conspiracy.

“What are you up to?” he asks, one eyebrow quirking as he lets me pull him up from the chair.

“Just come here,” I insist, dragging him closer until he’s standing in front of me. Then, without warning, I flop back onto the mattress, pulling him with me. He stumbles, barely catching himself as he lands beside me, his weight shifting the bed beneath us.

“Birdie,” he says, his tone caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “What the hell are you—”

“I didn’t know Warren had sex.”

His laugh bursts out of him, loud and unfiltered. “Seriously? That’s what this is about?”

“Yes!” I exclaim, rolling onto my side to face him. “I mean, did you know Warren was having sex? Do you think he’s, like, secretly a wild card?”

His laugh morphs into a groan as he drops his head dramatically. “Nope, nope. Don’t like that. Those two words should not be coming out of your mouth together.”

“What? Warren and sex?” I tease, dragging out the words just to watch him squirm. I shift so I’m straddling him now, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “You’re acting like it’s scandalous.”

“It is scandalous,” he retorts, looking at me with mock seriousness. “Warren is basically a cryptid. Cryptids don’t—” He gestures vaguely, his cheeks tinged pink. “—do that.”

“Maybe he’s a sexy cryptid,” I say, biting back a grin. “Have you ever read monster romance?”

“Oh my God, stop,” he groans, covering his face with his hands. “You’re ruining everything.”

“Am I, though?” I tease, leaning down to nudge his hands away. “Because you’re laughing, and I know you love it when I make you laugh.”

His hands drop, and he looks up at me, his grin softening. “Yeah, I do.” His fingers trail up my sides, settling at my waist as his gaze flicks between my eyes and my mouth. “Even when you’re being ridiculous.”

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