“Are you seriously still in your pajamas?” Mariana asked, stepping into the kitchen the next morning, her hair messy and eyes half-sleepy.
I poured coffee into two mugs. “It’s eight in the morning. What do you want from me?”
She flopped into a chair beside the kitchen counter. “It’s giving spoiled cartel royalty. I like it. I thought you'd be all dressed in blazers and heels and all of that.”
“You've clearly watched a lot of movies," I teased.
"Your life is basically a movie."
"Okay now, you’re the guest here,” I said, sliding a mug toward her. “You don’t get to roast me.”
“I slept on silk sheets last night, Isa. Roast me all you want, I died and went to luxury heaven.”
I smirked. “Told you it wouldn’t be weird.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t weird. I said it was luxurious. Different things.”
I sat across from her, yawning. “Well, thanks for coming.”
Mariana stirred her coffee lazily. “You didn’t exactly sound like I could refuse.”
“That's not true.”
“It is. You called me like, ‘Come over.
