Page 145 of From Now On

She smiles. “You wore me out.”

I chuckle. “You wore me out. I haven’t napped since I was a little kid. Everyone else would pass out on the way home after away games, and I’d be awake with the coaches.”

“Sean would sleep?”

It’s the first time Eve has mentioned my brother since she found out he existed. And I appreciate the way she does it, letting me reminisce about Sean without having to talk about his struggles.

“Yeah, he could fall asleep whenever, wherever. I was always jealous of that.”

She smiles again. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“I’m supposed to get burritos with Conor and Aidan at…” I crane my neck to see the clock on her dresser. “Five minutes ago. I should go.”

That explains why my phone keeps buzzing. Surprised it didn’t wake me up before Harlow did.

I sit up, running my hands through my hair.

“Shit.” Eve sits up too.

I glance over at her, alarmed.

“I didn’t finish your hair.”

I laugh, relieved. “I didn’t mind.”

“You can’t leave it like that. Get dressed. It won’t take long.”

“Uh-huh.” This is basically exactly how my last haircut—which ended with us back in her bed—started.

Eve’s busy pulling clothes on, so I stretch and stand too.

“I’m making pasta,” Harlow shouts. “Want some?”

“Yes, please!” Eve calls back.

I walk over to the pile of my clothes. I pull on my pants, then reach down to pick up my shirt. Beneath it, Eve’s sketchbook is lying open on the floor.

I stare at it. “What’s this?”

“What’s what—oh.” She stops next to me, rolling the waistband of her sweatpants. “I told you that you were my type.”

She’s acting casual, but her cheeks are pink. She’s embarrassed.

I’m…stunned.

I reach down to pick up the sketchbook, studying it more closely.

The resemblance is uncanny. Every detail of the interior of my car is exact. It’s like I’m staring at a photo of myself driving.

“I know we weren’t…anything, so maybe it’s weird. But, in my defense, it was draw you or draw the highway, so?—”

“I love it, Eve. Can I keep it?”

A wrinkle appears between her eyes. “Um, sure.”

I swipe a hand through my hair so I can keep staring at it. Aside from a silly caricature at a state fair, no one has everdrawnme before.

It feels a lot more intimate than snapping a photograph. I trace the pencil strokes that created this likeness to me, feeling honored. Art is an important part of Eve’s world. Her taking the time to sketch me—to include me in that part in some way—feels special.

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