Josie
It was barely past seven when the knock came, followed by the telltale swing of the door and the loudest voice on this side of the packhouse.
"Oh no, don't even think of pretending to be asleep," Marcy huffed, hands on her hips as she stepped in like she owned the place. "You're wearing the same hoodie I saw you in three days ago. Get up. We're going out."
I didn't even lift my head from the pillow. "Not happening."
"Girls' night, Josie."
"Not in the mood."
Marcy plopped down on the foot of the bed, ignoring the way I groaned and shifted away. "You never are. That's the problem. You've practically turned into a ghost. When was the last time you had a real conversation that wasn't with me, or one of your overbearing triplet mates, or Varen whispering sweet nothings like some patient puppy?"
"Did you just call Varen a puppy?" I mumbled into the sheets.
Marcy snorted. "A hot, six-foot-five puppy with a temper. But that's not the point."
