Micha shrugs. “Yeah, ‘course.”
Hamilton spends the next ten minutes going through Micha and Michaela’s ridiculously extensive palette of polish. Everyone else in the room spends the same ten minutes watching him closely.
“What about a green?” he says, considering. “Like a dark green, not a neon green. Like this one—” He plucks a bottle from the menagerie.
Micha pushes his mouth to the side in thought. “I like that one. It’ll go good with a glitter coat.”
Hamilton’s eyes narrow. “No glitter.”
I can practically feel everyone holding their breath.
Micha asks, “Why not?!”
“Because it gets everywhere,” Hamilton explains, “and you spend the next week spreading it like the glitter-flu.”
Micha snorts a laugh. “It’s nail polish, not craft glitter.” He lifts his chin, sounding obnoxiously formal when he promises, “I personally guarantee this glitter isn’t going anywhere but your nails.”
Hamilton looks skeptical, but ultimately agrees, “Fine, but it has to be this,” and plucks out a purple glitter coat that, in my opinion, is chosen a touch too quickly and decisively for someone who claims to hate glitter.
After that, things relax immensely. We all finish the movie as Micha carefully paints Hamilton’s nails, only commenting once that he’s got really nice cuticles for a jock. Later, when the polish is finished drying and Micha and Michaela have both begged off to bed, Brayden and Skylar follow, and my dad’s not very far behind them.
Before my mom clears out, she gives me a look that’s meant to be meaningful but goes completely ignored. “Good night, you two. Hamilton, please send your family our Christmas wishes.”
Hamilton shoots to his feet and for a split second, looks utterly ridiculous, like he’s about to shake her hand or possibly bow. “Thanks for letting me stay, Mrs. Adams. I’m sorry if I imposed.”
She watches him, something in her face softening and—ah ha! There it is. Mom is realizing that he’s a stray. “Do you have somewhere to go tonight?”
Hamilton looks briefly confused by this question. “I, ah—I’ve been staying with my sister.”
My mom smiles and nods like she expected as much. “Well, if you get tired and don’t mind Michaela waking everyone up at precisely sunrise to open her gifts, then you’re more than welcome to our sofa.”
Hamilton’s still got a stunned look on his face when she leaves the room. “Did your mom just offer to let me stay the night?”
I stand up, stretching lazily. “Yep.”
“But she knows that I’m—”
“Yes.”
He gestures between us. “And she knows that we—”
I nod, taking his hand. “Most definitely.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, watch
ing my face even as I lead him to the stairs. “Because they seem really nice. But your parents are kind of...”
“Crazy?” I ask, smiling as I lead him up the stairs. “Recklessly lenient? Overly trusting?”
Hamilton doesn’t understand where I’m taking him until we arrive in my bedroom. When he does, he freezes, two steps inside the room, watching me close and lock the door. “Whoa, wait.”
I look at him, lifting an eyebrow. “What’s the problem.”
He looks shiftily around, like he’s casing the place. “Is this a good idea? What if they find out I’m in here?”
I shrug. “Trust me, it’s fine.” At his worried expression, I sigh, explaining, “Their room is on the bottom floor, all the way on the other side of the house. They never get up during the night, especially the night before Christmas. You can go back down before Michaela wakes everyone up. But even if they did catch me, like... these are my parents.” I roll me eyes. “I’m sure there will be some very psychology-approved talks about contraception and responsibility and how to handle one’s emotions in a healthy way. But that’ll be it.”
He gnaws on his lip for a long moment, eventually meeting my gaze. “You’re sure?”