The next morning, I woke to another puddle of drool on my chest and let out a chuckle. Ali was sound asleep, not stirring once, even as I slipped out of the bed and crept silently across the floor. I pulled on my sweatpants and a t-shirt, heading out of my room and downstairs to the kitchen.
“Morning,” I said, stepping through the archway and nodding to my father who already sat at the kitchen table. He sipped his own coffee, his eyebrows raising as he looked up at me from the newspaper in his hands. I headed straight for the coffee maker, pulling out a set of cups for Ali and I then beginning to pour. She’d be up soon, and it would be nice to surprise her with a cup of coffee already made before I pulled her back into my arms and spent the rest of the morning tangled up in the sheets.
