Tucker opened his eyes. He and Luke were covered in the quilt from last night. Birdie sat in the nearby armchair with her knees hugged to her chest, eyes glued to the TV. She still wore the T-shirt and Sofe shorts that she counted as pajamas. The wisps of hair that had come loose from her thick dark braid framed her face. Tucker propped himself up on his elbow and stretched his other arm over his head, the tightening and relaxing of muscles spreading from the top of his head down to his toes. He rubbed his cheek with the palm of his hand, cringing at the rasp of stubble.
“Good morning,” said Birdie, her gaze flitting across the scrolling stream of text at the bottom of the screen. She was tuned into E! News.
Behind Tucker, Luke groaned and wrapped his arm around Tucker’s waist. He mumble
