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“Good morning,” a gentle voice sounds, and I turn to see Skylar peering at me from behind the kitchen counter.
My mouth turns dry.
She’s in an oversized white shirt that slouches off her shoulders and shows off her neck. My eyes dart to her pink mating gland before I can stop myself, and I clear my throat and force my dick to calm down.
“Hey,” I croak. “Sorry about falling asleep, I meant to stay up—”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she says quickly, dropping her gaze and pushing a white mug towards the end of the counter. “I have coffee if you want some. And I put out an extra toothbrush in the bathroom if you need it.”
This is so fucking awkward I want to scream. It’s like the morning after, but we didn’t even fuck.
I dig my nails into my palms, hard enough that the pain grounds me.
I shouldn’t be here. She’s a beautiful distraction, but I don’t have time for this.
Yet all I want to do is stay here and wake up to the smell of Skylar and coffee every damn day.
This is the most rested I’ve been in months.
“Yeah, thanks,” I say, clearing my throat. “Wait. Do you know where my jacket is?”
I left it on the top of the couch, but it’s not there anymore.
Her face turns pink and her scent spikes.
Interesting.
“Yeah, I spilled coffee on it when I was moving it. I’m sorry,” she says evenly, staring at the coffee mug. “I tried to blot it with a towel, but it didn’t help. I’ll have it dry cleaned for you,” she adds quickly.
She’s fucking lying, and judging by the look on her face, she knows that I know.
I could push it. I really could, because now I want to know what the fuck happened to my jacket.
“No need,” I say instead, standing up. I’m sure I look like a mess; my hair is everywhere, and my shirt is rumpled, but her scent sweetens as I approach her. “I’ll just use your bathroom, then see where the fuck Landon is.”
She nods, still not meeting my eyes. “Okay,” she says. “I have work in about an hour, anyway.”
I raise an eyebrow and walk closer to her. “You’re not going to work,” I say evenly. “You have a concussion.”
Her face flames, but she still won’t look at me. Instead, she snatches one of the coffee mugs off the counter and gently blows on the top of it. “I’m aware,” she mutters, cradling the cup. “But I have a café to run.”
I want to throttle her—she’s just as stubborn as she was yesterday. I bring the other cup of coffee to my lips, staring her down. “If you act reckless, you’ll end up back in the hospital. You need to take care of yourself.”
Finally, she meets my gaze. She stares me down and does her best to look tough, despite the enhanced size of her pupils.
She’s aroused.
I look like shit and sound like an asshole, yet somehow, she’s still attracted to me?
My head spins.
“Because you’re the picture of self-care,” she says instead, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Mister ‘I’ll sleep when I’m dead.’”
I rage inside.
Her safety is not your concern, I try to remind myself.
But my inner Alpha, possessive and unhinged, has finally clawed its way out.
