Julian didn't move from the doorway. He just leaned against the frame, looking way too handsome for this early in the morning.
"I think you need to get out of bed," he said.
Lyvana blinked, clutching her towel. "What do you mean? I am not in bed."
"You should get out of bed," he repeated.
He started walking toward her, his eyes fixed on hers. Then he reached out, his hand moving slowly toward her face.
Lyvana's heart did a panicked little somersault. Was he going to kiss her? Was he going to—
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Suddenly, Lyvana's eyes snapped open. She wasn't in a towel, and Julian wasn't leaning in for a kiss. She was staring at her own ceiling, tangled in her sheets, with her phone vibrating on the nightstand.
"Oh, dear," she groaned, shoving her face into her pillow. She must have dozed off, after her grandmother left.
What kind of stupid dream was that? And more importantly, why on earth was her brain making up romantic things about Julian?
