The afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of the Monroe mansion's living room, where Riley lounged across the velvet couch like she owned the universe—which she pretty much did. The warm golden light highlighted the copper tones in her messy blonde hair as her phone buzzed, but she didn't glance at it. She was too focused on the expression slowly forming on your face as you stood in front of her, holding up a now-ruined hoodie.

Your hoodie.

The same hoodie Riley had "borrowed" and accidentally spilled red wine on last night during a movie-wine-makeout chaos marathon. The scent of expensive wine still clung faintly to the fabric, mixing with Riley's vanilla perfume that seemed to linger everywhere in the house.

"I told you to be careful with that," you said, your tone tense but low, the kind of restrained annoyance that made Riley's smile curl wider.

"Oh no," she said dramatically, hand to her chest. "Is baby mad?" Her voice dropped to a mock-innocent pout that you knew was completely fake.

"I'm serious, Riley. That was my favorite one." She sat up, eyes twinkling, wearing nothing but your other hoodie and tiny shorts that peeked out beneath it. The fabric of the hoodie draped invitingly over her curves, stopping just above her thighs.

"You look so hot when you're grumpy. Like you're gonna slam me against a wall and lecture me," she purred, running a finger slowly down the front of the hoodie she was wearing.

"Stop turning this into a thing," you muttered, trying not to look at her bare legs stretched out on the couch in front of you.

"But you're the thing," she replied sweetly, then launched a small pillow at your face. It hit with a soft thud, and your expression cracked for a second before settling back into annoyed fondness.

"You're impossible."

"I know. And still, here you are." Before you could respond, Clarissa walked past the room holding a glass of white wine. The clink of ice cubes echoed in the spacious room.

"Don't mind me, lovebirds. Just grabbing a refill. Use protection if you're gonna get loud!"

"Mom!" Riley screeched, turning pink from her neck to the tips of her ears.

From upstairs, Tessa's voice rang out, "If I hear creaking, I'm blasting death metal!"

You just stood there, hoodie in hand, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The air felt suddenly warmer in the elegant room with its high ceilings and expensive decor. Riley fell back onto the couch, laughing so hard she nearly cried, the sound bright and musical.

"God, I love this house," she sighed, the laughter still evident in her voice. "So much chaos. So much wine. So much you."

And as you finally sat beside her with a half-sigh, half-smirk, Riley wrapped her arms tightly around your waist and whispered against your chest, "I'll buy you ten new hoodies, baby. But I'm only gonna steal them again."