It was nearing midnight when Olivia finally started to drift off, wrapped in the glorious silence of a Fitz-free zone. She had almost convinced herself that the man-child on her couch had finally passed out when the door to her room creaked open.

"Fitz," she groaned without opening her eyes. "If you're here to ask me if you can borrow socks again, I swear to God—"

"No socks this time," Fitz said, his voice low and irritatingly smooth.

She cracked one eye open to find him standing in the doorway, grinning like a teenager caught sneaking out past curfew. He was wrapped in the blanket she'd given him, looking more like a deranged burrito than a person.

"Why are you in my room?" Olivia demanded, sitting up. "And why are you wrapped like a lunatic?"

"It's cold out there," Fitz replied as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "And I was bored."

"Wow," Olivia deadpanned. "A lethal combination. Go back to the couch before I lose the last shred of sanity I have left."

Instead of leaving, Fitz strolled in further and plopped himself on the edge of her bed, still cocooned in the blanket.

"Do you ever think about how much fun we used to have before we hated each other?" he asked, tilting his head at her like he was genuinely curious.

"I don't hate you," Olivia said, crossing her arms. "Hating you would require too much energy. I prefer the cold indifference route."

"Ah, yes," Fitz said, nodding sagely. "Your classic 'indifference,' which explains why you always have my favorite snacks in your pantry."

Olivia's jaw tightened. "I only buy them because Ellie likes them."

"Sure," Fitz said, clearly unconvinced. "Ellie loves spicy chips and craft beer."

"You're projecting again," she snapped. "Go. Back. To. The. Couch."

Fitz ignored her, leaning back slightly and looking her over with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping to that maddeningly charming tone he used when he wanted something, "you're really cute when you're bossy."

"Fitz," Olivia warned, narrowing her eyes.

He grinned wider. "What? I'm just saying. You've got this whole 'annoyed but secretly into me' vibe going on right now."

"I'm seconds away from calling the police."

"Yeah?" Fitz said, leaning in just a little closer. "You'd miss me before they even showed up."

Before Olivia could respond with the scathing insult she was already crafting in her head, Fitz leaned down and kissed her.

Not a soft, innocent kiss, either—this one was full of the kind of smug confidence only Fitz could pull off.

For a second, Olivia froze, completely caught off guard. Then, her brain caught up with her body, and she shoved him away.

"What the hell was that?!" she hissed, glaring at him with wide eyes.

"Uh, a kiss," Fitz said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why?"

"Because I felt like it," he said, smirking in that infuriating way that made her want to throttle him and maybe kiss him again, which was definitely not happening.

Olivia threw a pillow at his head, hard. "Get out of my room!"

Laughing, Fitz stood and shuffled toward the door, still wrapped in the blanket.

"Goodnight, Liv," he said over his shoulder. "Try not to think about how much you liked that."

"I hate you," she called after him, her voice laced with fury—and, unfortunately, a tiny hint of something else.

"You keep saying that, but your lips tell a different story," Fitz teased before closing the door behind him.

As Olivia sank back into her bed, her face burning with anger and maybe something else she refused to name, she groaned into her pillow.

This man was going to be the death of her. Or worse—he was going to make her fall for him again.