“I’m the one—? You blackmailed me into coming this weekend.”
He doesn’t blink. “Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before committing a felony.”
Ugh, he’s insufferable.
I push off the chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’m taking a shower. Try not to be an asshole while I’m gone.”
He lifts a brow. “No promises.”
I flip him off over my shoulder and head to the bathroom, half-hoping the water pressure blasts the stress out of my skull.
Twenty minutes later, I come back freshly scrubbed, wrapped in what’s left of my dignity.
And immediately lose it.
Because Rowan’s asleep.
On the bed.
Shirtless.
He’s lying back against the headboard, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely beside Waffles—who is curled up on his chest, snoozing.
And Rowan… Rowan looks peaceful.
No scowl. No tension. Just quiet and still and so outrageously hot that my brain short-circuits.
For a terrifying number of seconds, I just stand there, towel in hand, hair damp, staring. I’ve lost all sense of self-preservation.
He looks soft in sleep. Unbothered.
And then?—
His eyes crack open.
Just a sliver. Just enough to find me rooted to the floor.
“Stop staring,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Get into bed.”
My soul immediately evacuates my body.
“I-I wasn’t— I was just grabbing the dog,” I stammer, diving forward and scooping Waffles into my arms.
Rowan doesn’t move. Just exhales, lids already drifting closed again. “Whitmore.”
“What?” My voice is far too high.
“The floor is uncomfortable.”
“Perfect,” I squeak, scurrying away. “I love uncomfortable floors. I’m a big fan, really.”
I drop onto the floor, dragging Waffles with me and yanking the nearest blanket over my head in one frantic motion.
This is fine. I’m fine.
I’m just a girl, lying on the carpet, aggressively pretending she wasn’t just caught ogling the human that she may or may not have missed terribly.
Totally normal.
