Title: Until the Sunrise

Rating: M for mature themes, substance abuse, and coarse language.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, names, places, anything from High School Musical or Disney. This story is copyright to the owner and may not be used without permission. I in no way affiliated with any of the High School Musical Cast, Disney, Kenny Ortega or Peter Barsocchini. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. I do not own any of the lyrics to "Until the Sunrise" or am affiliated with Timeflies, Cal Shapiro or Rob Resnick.

A/N: Sup, HSM world, anyone still out there?

Confession, this probably the most random thing I've ever done.

Few things I feel I should address: No, I will not be writing a 40 chapter story any time soon, I'm way too busy running around with a recorder in my hand or attempting to fight off sleep in the library at 1 a.m. during the school year. Please don't ask me to, unless you're offering to study and attend lecture for me come fall. Then get at me. I'm only posting this because I got bored as hell at my summer internship and wanted to see if I could actually write something not in AP style. Also heads up if you're a newbie to my stuff, I don't write canon. I'm just merely using their names and goddamn attractive bodies. This is a story about college life the way I know it. I like booze, boys and the word fuck and am not afraid to use them.

Anyways, I hope you like it and thank you for reading! It was meant to be a oneshot, but got too long so I decided to split it up. Honestly, it's fairly plotless and much different from the heavy stuff I used to write. Crossing my fingers it's alright.

It's getting loud we're moving faster

Like the beating of your heart

This could be a sweet disaster

Run with me into the dark.

This night is perfect, so don't let it end

Let's make it worth it cuz I got a feeling

That when this is over, we'll do it again

-Timeflies, "Until the Sunrise"

I'm going to be honest: 74.3 % of what I learned in college was complete bullshit.

Maybe I'm not the best one to give my opinion; I spent the first four semesters groaning over the idea of majoring in pre-law just to please my father instead of pursuing my dream to be a surgeon. I completely wasted two years knocking off gen-eds and falling asleep through monotone lectures of Legal Research and Writing 211. Math and science were more my thing.

I didn't actually start learning anything relevant until junior year when my boyfriend picked up my book of New Mexican statutes and chucked them at my apartment wall. It happened after I had been complaining all day of how I would hate being a lawyer – a daily ritual. I resisted, until he skipped his Kinesiology 309 class, literally carried me to my adviser and made me switch.

But that's another story.

College, for me, was more about life experiences than learning intellectual information. I grew up as an army brat. I jumped among ten different states before I was twelve. It wasn't until I stepped foot on the University of Albuquerque campus on move-in day, however, that I finally broke my shell and became far more outgoing. I can thank freshman year for that one.

There were three experiences I had those first two years that ultimately helped me evolve from an innocent high school girl to a college student who could confidently define herself.

Looking back, the first was fairly pathetic. See, in high school I was one of those 4.0 smart girls who never had to pick up a book and still managed to graduate in the top five percent of my class. Transitioning into a university swimming in geniuses forced me to learn even the smartest had to work their asses off. It was a Wednesday when the email landed in my inbox, informing me the grade my first midterm for Anthropology was posted. I had been cocky, assuming I aced it with flying colors. Instead, the fat and ugly "C" curled on my computer screen, mocking me. I called my mom; I cried. I figured any chance of law school evaporated – not that I would have minded.

It was the first and last C I ever received in the eight years of my post-secondary education.

The second lesson was that its okay to have fun. Being cross country and soccer captain, treasurer of student council, and under persistent hawk eyes of my ex-soldier father, the thought of alcohol consumption was completely out of the question. It wasn't like I felt left out or anything, I was content with my school work.

Being at the University of Albuquerque changed things. Given the school is number eight on Princeton Review College Party School ranking, my crazy, and highly dysfunctional, family I found on my floor Freshman year helped me shake away the previous notion that alcohol was dangerous and deviant. I started going out on the weekends after I moved in to the co-ed dorm. I've had some incredible nights, and also some embarrassing ones. As long as we take care of each other and don't let our grades slip, a little harmless college lifestyle doesn't kill you. Besides, U of A is named 29th-best university in the world by Times Higher Education World Reputation Rankings. We work hard to play hard.

I learned the final, and most important, lesson on Homecoming sophomore year: a kiss can change everything.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

9:43 a.m.

"I'm dying."

I glanced over my shoulder to see my roommate's limbs knotted in impossible angles in the chair. Her head was bowed and her hair blanketed her body, face hidden between her legs.

"You're not dying." I promised, "It will pass in an hour."

"Fucking. Tequila. I'm never drinking again."

I laughed, "Sharpay, you say that every weekend. And then you go out again the next night."

"I mean it this time."

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to our kitchen and flipped the switch to the coffeemaker. It grunted and shuddered, angered I forced it to life. I mentally added a new one to the list of things I would need once Christmas break came along. So it was only October, a girl needed to prepare for these events ahead of time.

"You want any?" I asked. Behind me, the coffeemaker spotted the countertop.

Between two thick strands of her blonde hair, I saw a flicker of her whiskey-colored glare, "I'd puke it up."

I looked down the hallway to see if our other roommate, Taylor, wanted some. Her door was closed, though if I listened close enough, I'd be able to hear the soft hum of her voice singing along to a song I didn't know. Unlike drunky on the chair and I, Taylor had been responsible and did homework last night.

"We were supposed to be at the boys' a half hour ago. C'mon Shar, do you really want to miss homecoming?" I asked. Cringing, I poured the chunky coffee into a clean mug.

"Oh God, the thought of pre-gaming anymore…"

"I'm not drinking." I said, taking a sip of my coffee, "I can attend a football game without putting illegal substances in my body. It is possible."


On the counter, my phone buzzed. I caught Sharpay wincing at the sound in the corner of my eye. After checking it, I slid it shut again and said, "That was Chad. He wants us there, like, now."

"Tell him to go to hell."

"You weren't saying that to him last night," I had a mischievous smirk on. Then, I sighed and tapped my fingers on the counter, "Do you want to go or not?"

Taylor's door creaked when it opened. The black-haired genius walked into the light; her tennis shoes tapped against the kitchen tiles as she walked and a red shirt covered her.

"Morning!" Taylor said. She noticed the lump of Sharpay on the chair and raised her eyebrows, "Rough night?"


"What'd you guys do?" Taylor asked.

I shrugged, "There was something on Monroe St. last night. But Sharpay had three too many tequila shots."

"Did Chad sleep here?"

My eyes flickered to Sharpay, "No. He walked her back at like four."

Taylor smiled tightly. Sometimes I wondered if she ever secretly got annoyed with Sharpay and I after nights that we went out. Taylor was the studious one and went out on rare occasions. We respected her lifestyle and she respected ours – or at least she didn't call us idiots in front of our faces. Whatever, at least we didn't act like a 60-year-old grandma with arthritis and a bowel problem when we were nineteen.

"What are you doing for the game?" I asked.

Taylor opened the refrigerator and grabbed a yogurt and an orange. Sharpay moaned again.

"Martha and I are going with some of the girls from Chem lab," she said and pulled back the lid back on the yogurt, "Boys' house?"

I nodded, glanced at the clock, and sighed.

"And we should have been there like, now. C'mon Shar, either get up now or I'm leaving you."

The blonde grunted once before placing one foot onto the carpet of our apartment, then the other. When she stood, I had to look up. Even hunched over, she towered over my pathetic 5'2" size; where her golden hair ended her legs began. She swayed as she walked towards me. For a brief moment, I thought she was still drunk. Maybe she still was.

"Get your ticket. I'll get you some water, kay?"

Sharpay dragged down the hallway to her room and shut the door behind her.

"Have fun," said Taylor before she screwed the cap on her water bottle and left.

Saturday, October 22, 2011

10:14 a.m.

A half an hour passed before we turned the street corner and took in Fulton Street's ugly maroon house. It was difficult, however, to actually determine any other color than the shimmering flashes of jay-blue and scarlet darting in and out of the sunlight. With every step, the stereo base sent electrical signals through my legs and to my brain, immediately triggering the neurons responsible for dancing.

Focus Montez: Football, not a sweaty dance party.

"There are a lot of people here!" The little brunette in glasses skipping beside me said, "At least forty!"

I turned to Kelsi Neilson, who was an inch shorter than I and also lived on my floor last year. Her big, brown eyes were wide – bugged, underneath her thick-rimmed glasses.

I smiled and rubbed my temple to rid my baby hang-over headache, "They did well today. Just don't tell 'em that. How you doing Shar?"

Sharpay's eyes, and entire face for that matter, hid behind her sunglasses. She gave me a tight smile and shrugged, "Better. But if I get even a whiff of the WOP I'm kicking it the fucking tub over."

That seemed more like the Sharpay I knew.

My fellow Redhawks, some of whom I recognized and strangers, were scattered in bundles around the beer pong table in the front yard, the rickety porch that was about the break and the alleyway beside the houses. For any other circumstances, the glazed look in many of their eyes would have been unacceptable. This was, however, The University of Albuquerque football. The pregames were just as famous as the team itself.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" A male voice called out as soon as we reached where the sidewalk met the pathetic excuse for a walkway. The black coils on Chad Danforth's head bounced as he bounded down the porch steps and weaved through the crowd. The white of his smile contrasted with the dark hue of his skin, making it almost sparkle.

"You can blame this one for us being late." I elbowed Sharpay beside me.

Chad's eyes lingered on her for a second longer than the rest of us. He then hugged each of us respectively, which gave me the indication that he was at least tipsy. His breath had a stale beer scent.

He smirked, "Figures it'd be you."

Sharpay's bitch-personality that was sedated for the past six hours suddenly awoke: pissed, raging and deadly.

"Excuse me? Who's idea was it to take three body shots on the fucking kitchen table?" She tapped her ruby heels against the sidewalk – okay, she may have been my best friend, but she was insane to wear heels to a football game. It wasn't Texas.

When Chad wiggled his eyebrows, it looked like an exotic caterpillar having a seizure, "You weren't complaining when my tongue was licking your…"

"Dude, Danforth! Help me bring out the WOP tub!"

I should have been kissing the ground for the voice that saved Kelsi and I from explicit details of Chad and Sharpay's relationship- Friendship? Hook-up-ship? Whatever the hell they were? – but immediately my body tensed. Dear God, Allah, Zeus, Buda, Channing Tatum: please don't let anyone but Sharpay see shiver that rippled down my spine.

His smile was bright and beautiful when we all turned to see him walk towards us. With a flip of his hair to remove the dark hair that flopped on his forehead, he moved across the yard with ease. I willed every muscle in my body not to spring into his arms and confess the undying feelings for him I fought so desperately to keep hidden.

"Do it yourself," Chad barked back.

He rolled his eyes that were usually burning with passion but then beady thanks to the WOP, "It's in yours and Brooks' room and he's too hammered to give me the key."

In sync, we all turned to our red-headed, six-five premed friend who was in the middle of shot-gunning a beer and fell into the railing. Well, at least something supported him.

"That's smart." Kelsi said, "Locking your doors so no one steals anything."

"Or fucks in my bed."

Chad glared at him and then shot a glance at Sharpay, who was busy picking at her pink nail polish.

I felt his eyes on me before I saw them. The world felt smaller, the air thicker and hard to inhale. Beneath his red shirt, his arms raised, waiting.

"Hey you," Jason Cross, my best guy friend and the only boy who could irregulate my heart, said before he engulfed me.

"Hi." My voice sounded higher than usual.

As I stood on my tiptoes to return the hug, I remembered how falling for him had been a complete accident. Honestly, he was camouflaged in the backdrop of our floor meeting the first night we moved into the dorms last year. Jason's cute with his boyish face and the haircut that begs for a trim. His personality, however, is what makes girls drop to their knees in pleads – and in response to his pleads. I ignored his player-reputation when I fell for him two weeks into college, and have been haunted by him ever since.

"So glad you're here," Jason slurred slightly. He then released me and turned back to our friends. "Hey Sharpay!" He greeted before hugging her as well. I looked away. Sharpay's eyes dug deep holes into my skin while trying not to vomit on Jason's shirt - for multiple reasons. I tried to ignore them.

On cue, a carbon copy blond I didn't recognize yelled "Jase!"and sprinted into the grip I was just in. Reality slapped my cheek and punctured a deep indent into my heart.

I took a deep breath in, trying to settle myself and shake the feeling. Trying to look anywhere but at the floppy black hair and dark eyes I got lost in, I turned my head and saw a figure leaned against the porch siding. The PBR logo on his beer was unrecognizable beneath his long fingers.

He met my gaze; hesitation shimmered over his tan skin. The initial awkwardness flooded my blood, remembering the last time I saw him, but I shook it clean.

"Hey! How are you?" I greeted, turning so I could direct my attention more towards the spiky-haired boy staring at me.

Troy Bolton smiled and stepped off the porch.

"Hey." Troy said slowly. His eyes darted over my face, trying to read my expression.

Let me recap: Troy was a transfer from the University of Phoenix this year. He was a kinesiology major and went to high school with Chad. He was an only child, played basketball since he was four and had eyes that dazzled.

He also had magic fingers that made me cum on the spot when I hooked up with him one night a month ago and a queen sized bed in a studio apartment – a rare breed on campus.

"Bolton, there you are! BP partner. NOW!" Chad yelled to him, "Me and you against Cross and Baylor."

Before Troy broke our stare and turned to him, he gave me a small smile. I returned it politely. It was the least I could do. He did let me sleep in his bed and didn't ask for sex once that night, another rare breed. Plus, being friends with Chad made him friends with the guys, so it was inevitable that I'd run into him regularly.

And I gotta admit, he's pretty cute.

He bounded down the stairs and passed me without another word. Chad clamped his back and strutted towards the beer pong table, which was painted like a miniature football field. The duo stood facing me. Unable to help myself, I watched as Troy dipped the ping pong ball into a water-filled SOLO cup, tossed it easily into the middle cup.

"Freshman cup! You know da rules, drop 'em, Troy Boy." Zeke Baylor, another boy from my floor last year, slurred. Chad shot me a smirk, along with Sharpay and Kelsi. I waited, and hoped, for Jason's eyes to fall on me, tainted jade. Of course, they didn't.

I blushed when Troy unbuttoned his jeans and wiggled until they crumpled at his ankles. Sharpay elbowed me in the back, leaned into my ear and whispered, "You're a lucky little bitch, you know."

I looked at Jason, who was aiming his shot and oblivious to my eye's magnetic pull, and shook my head.

My head shook, "No, I'm not." I said and ripped away from the boy I couldn't live without. Sharpay frowned, "C'mon, let's see if we can find anything in that house that doesn't have alcohol in it."

Saturday, October 22, 2011

10:47 a.m.

Sharpay's necklace jangled against her chest when we walked past the slumbering police car parked a block away from the boys' house. On the other side of her, Kelsi's fingers pulled at her Carolina colored sleeves.

"Do you think they're gonna get busted?"

I shook my head, "Nah. You know the cops don't care as long as no one is being stupid."

"Pshh, they're all stupid. Zeke's not even gonna make it to the game. And Chad's being a little fuck and won't leave that house." I imagined Sharpay's eyes rolling beneath her sunglasses, which made her look like a manicured praying mantis.

"Coming from the girl who wanted to die this morning." She slapped the back of my head, which sent my exploding black curls flying in my ponytail, "Hey!"

Herds of students condensed in the streets as we drew closer to Dane Memorial Stadium, the U of A Redhawk's football home. With each student that passed, my smile grew. Gamedays were better than an ice cream sundae served by Chase Crawford in Honolulu.

I would have turned the corner, but a red t-shirt and jeans clad figured flashed in my peripheral. It took a half breath to realize we were just in front of Zeke's house. The dark-skinned-Dwyane-Wade-Betty-Crocker friend moved his hands wildly as he talked to my ex-hook up in his gravel driveway. As I opened my mouth to urge the other two on before he saw me, Troy's bright eyes met mine. Sighing, I waved and almost looked down…

When he beckoned us over.

That uncomfortable rush of anticipation nipped my heart and pumped wildly in my veins. I'm not one to make situations awkward, but given that his was the first boy's bed I've slept in since I've been in college, I don't exactly have experience dealing with the post-hook-up aftermath. He was drunk, I was drunk, it was merely a blimp in my memory radar. Couldn't he just be like normal boys and pretend I didn't exist after seeing me naked?

"Long time no see." I tried to act cool, suave.

Instead, my sneaker's toe caught a stray rock and I stumbled.

Troy snickered when I finally reached him. Somewhere next door, Mike Stud's rap provided an anthem for a beer bong. I almost couldn't hear Troy over the cheering.

"What are you doing today?" Troy asked bluntly. His draw string backpack waved against his back. He pulled at the string, and I couldn't help but watch his bicep inflate under his homemade cut off shirt.

It was my turn to smirk, "Well, there is this football game today…"

"I mean after."

"Are you going to Allison's tonight?" Zeke asked.

I shrugged, "I don't know, maybe. I have a speech due and I had a headache this morning. Too much time in front of the computer."

Troy's white teeth blinded when he curled the left side of his lips, "That's not true. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to lie, Gabriella?"

"Guess it's my only bad habit," I couldn't control the way the ends of my words curled and caressed.

"Ah, that's not true, Miss Innocent. I know better."

I suddenly realized I stood in the middle of my friends; my hips aligned with and mirrored Troy's. Heat diffused across my cheeks, was that the sun or my blush? "Sorry, I'll get out of the middle…" I quickly retreated between Sharpay and Kelsi.

"I'm bored, can we go?" Sharpay asked, picking the dirt out of her nails

"Yeah, we should go." I waved and looked up into Troy's clear eyes. They twinkled when they met mine, "Maybe see you later?"

Troy grinned, "Definitely."

Saturday, October 22, 2011

5:18 p.m.

"You know he was only talking to you at Zeke's today, right?"

Sharpay's normally sunshine hair was faded to a graham cracker shade when she pulled the bath towel from her head. It flopped into chunks that rested against the hot pink towel squeezing her skinny frame. I always envied her model body type, in comparison how I looked like a Hispanic Smurf thanks to my midget height.

I rolled my eyes and adjusted my butt against the bar stool. Notecards peppered the counter, which overlooked our open kitchen. The creamy surface reflected the white and blue Facebook newsfeed glowing on my laptop screen.

"Stop, alright? I don't care who he was talking to. We're not even going to Allie's. You're still hungover and I have a speech to write."

Sharpay ran a finger through her wet tresses, "I'm just sayin', Troy's fucking ten times hotter than Jason is."

I hoped my eyes sent hot coals in her direction when I glared at her, "You know I'd give anything not to like Jase anymore."

She flashed her manicured hand, "I know, I know. 'It's so fucking hard liking one of your best friends. It's so hard watching him hook up with other girls in front of you. It's so hard trying to keep it a secret from everyone else cuz you're afraid it will ruin your friendship' blah blah blah."

"It's not funny, Shar. It sucks, a lot."

If Sharpay knew how to show empathy, her cheeks twisting and her mouth frowning would have been it.

"Speaking of, he's coming over to pick up my Legal Studies 211 book like nowish. So can you put some clothes on?" I tried to change the topic.

She scrunched her nose like a skunk pooped onions in our living room.

A buzzing exploded in our apartment, making me almost knock out of the bar stool. A rush of butterflies mutated and flapped in my stomach. We looked at each other before Sharpay groaned and grumbled, "Come get me when you take the trash out."

I ran towards the key pad that allowed entry into our ten story apartment building and shoved my finger into the button so hard I almost pushed it through the wall. One minute and three knocks later, I swung open the door to reveal Jason, still clad in his Redhawk jersey I'm sure he picked up from the bookstore.

"Hey!" I greeted.

He smiled at me, "Hey yourself," His eyes were a chocolate rim, instead of the black I last saw them. "How was your game?"

I shrugged, trying to regulate my heartbeat and keep myself from reaching up to brush the whips of his black hair from the spaces between his thick eyelashes.

"So great, and I'm glad we killed them. You guys stay for the whole game?"

He shook his head, "Nah, Karrie was starving so we left at half time."

I battled with my reflexes to keep my eyes on his. My fingers tugged at the bottom of my t-shirt, "Karrie? That blonde girl you were with at the pregame?"

My mental filter cursed myself for being too obviously jealous. If Jason noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Yeah, she's a freshman from back home."

Well, at least I had a year up on her.

"She's cute." I said, turning to the scatters of note cards on the counter.

"Yeah. She is."

Knives, piercing and sharpened, punctured tiny holes into all of my organs. I had a year of experience, however, temporarily covering the wounds with invisible bandaids. Between silent breaths, I reminded myself that this girl was just like last week's poli sci Sandy. It didn't mean anything.

"Is Sharpay here?" Jason changed the subject, glancing down the hallway.

"Yeah, she just got out of the shower," I said. "Taylor went to the library though."

He continued to stare at the closed door with the light drawing a glow beneath it, "Gotcha. How's the speech coming?"

I almost slapped him in the face. In the first five minutes that he had been standing in my kitchen, he referenced my two least favorite discussion topics: his fuck buddies and my major.

"Awful, stupid and so boring," I groaned. "I don't really give a crap about analyzing a past case and pointing out the prosecutor's strategies."

Jason crossed his arms and leaned back against the sink – god, did he know what he did to me? – and shook his head, "That's interesting Gabs, and pretty much the epitome of what you'll be doing for the rest of your life."

I picked up a pen and stabbed it menacingly into a note card, hoping to kill its heartbeat. My Facebook newsfeed automatically refreshed, revealing Zeke had taken a picture two hours ago via iPhone of Chad, Troy and Ethan Brooks collapsed on the cheap, black couches in the boys' living room. Troy's arm stretched out and provided a pillow for his head; his mouth ajar and his legs slightly curled in his jeans. For a millisecond, I remembered how tight his muscles felt against my bare skin when he laid in that same position a month ago, except I had been spooned in his arms.

Jason's smooth voice brought me out of the past again, "Want me to help you tomorrow? If I'm not too hung over?" He offered.

"Yes." I said too quickly, "Erm, why what's tonight?"

"Allison and Clare's. I'm goin' for a little bit."

Allie and Clare were two girls who appeared consistently at parties the guys threw. They were two tall, brunette and overly sexual girls who provided entertainment by making out with each other. Although a bit too extreme for my taste, they were friendly girls and always greeted me with tackles and sloppy kisses on my cheek.

Once I knew Jason was going, there was suddenly nothing more important than going to that party.

"Oh, yeah Sharpay and I are going too." I said.

Jason cocked an eyebrow, "I thought you said you had a lot to get done."

Again, I looked at my notecards. Again, I tried to poison them with my eyes.

"I don't have that much to do."

"I don't know, when I had the speech in my discussion, I spent all that Saturday night doing it." My stomach carved a hallow hole. It was the little things he said, like how he wasn't begging me to go to the party, that reminded me the cold truth that he had no feelings for me.

My purple tank top strap slipped when I shrugged my shoulders, "I guess…"

Through his jeans, a light illuminated. He fished through his pocket and removed his phone, paging through the text he just received. Judging by how he then picked up the maroon book waiting on the counter, he didn't notice how much his lack of interest bothered me. "Anyways, I gotta shower. Thanks for this," he said and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. Some sane side of me released an antidote for the shivers rolling down my spine at his fingers brushing against my bare skin. "Good luck on the speech."

"Yeah, I'll see you later."

Jason didn't return the statement, nor did his coffee colored eyes light up to a soft caramel with anticipation. Instead, his lips inflated against his white teeth. Reaching for the door, he gave a small wave and said, "Bye Gabs."

Only my MacBook's gentle hum could be heard after the door slammed shut. I sat on the bar stool, feeling stupid, pathetic and so goddamn lonely.

My eyes flicked to the computer screen once again. Comments threaded down from Zeke's picture: Chad gushing about how beautiful his nap was, Zeke informing them that they were out to the world. My mind was still lost in Jason's presence, his cologne and sweat mixture still lingered in my nostrils when I absentmindedly clicked on Troy's Facebook. His profile picture showed him immersed in a sea of students wearing a red and blue jersey. His thumbs pointed to the sky with a jay blue snapback swung backwards over his chestnut colored hair. Rider Redhawk, our mascot who stood next to him, brought a blinding white smile onto his face.

I then searched "Jason Cross" and pulled up Jason's profile. In his picture, his arms were slung around two blondes who lived on the floor above ours last year. A red SOLO cup hung from his fingers. His dark eyes were covered by wafer sunglasses.

I lingered and yelled, "Sharpay!"

The bedroom door clattered against the wall when it swung open. Sharpay padded barefoot into the kitchen only wearing red-and-black lacy boy shorts and a matching bra that attempted to lift her non-existent boobs.


"How's your hangover?"

"Pretty much gone, why?"

My eyes never left the picture when I asked, "Can I borrow your blue dress tonight?"

Finally, I clicked back to my newsfeed and glanced up to watch the low smile draw over her pointed cheeks, "I thought you had too much to do to go out?"

Oh shit, forgot about that.

With a quick debate between the notecard stack and the picture of the napping boys once again shining on the screen, I smiled and promised, "We'll make it an early night."