Everything is red.
I flick my eyes to the left, then to the right, eyelids still squeezed shut.
Yup. Still red.
Wait—shit. Why is it red?
My eyes snap open, a harsh beam of golden sunlight pouring through the cabin windows. I blink rapidly, stars sparking behind my eyelids. Normally, I’d have my sleep mask on, but—I glance around, spotting it on the floor.
Right.
My legs wriggle, an attempt to peel myself out of bed, but something’s weighing me down. I look over. Peyton is naked, pressed against the wall, half of her sprawled across me, the other half twisted into a position that looks like scoliosis. Even as she’s relaxed, her muscles ripple beneath her skin, the curvesof her pale back carved and defined. She lets out a low groan, burying her head deeper into my chest.
What time is it?
I grab my phone off the nightstand, pressing the cool metal button. Nothing happens. I press it again.
Dammit.
Careful not to disturb her, I slip out from under Peyton and maneuver toward the other nightstand. The cold November air creeps up my pants, the chill nipping at my ankles as I cross the room. I reach for her phone, fingers brushing against the device, and this time, the screen flickers to life.
2 missed calls.
1 message from someone named Avery.
10:45.
Hm. Not bad. Setting the phone down and scanning the room, my eyes land on my bag, half-open, clothes spilling out. I stroll over, rifling through it. The zipper’s caught on a sleeve, and I tug it free with a quick flick. Then I dig through the mess, pulling out a soft pair of sweatpants, then reach deeper, grabbing my—
Wait. 10:45?
“Shit!”
Peyton groans from the bed, draping an arm over her eyes. “What?” she grumbles.
My knees drop to the creaky hardwood, a throbbing ache zinging through them as I frantically pack. “The bus leaves in fifteen minutes!”
Peyton’s entire body jerks upright, her tired eyes shooting open. The blanket shifts with her movement, slipping off her body and pooling into her lap. In the warmth of the daylight, her pale skin glows with a red undertone, the ample soft swells on her chest perked in the cool air. While I quickly threw on clothesthe moment we finished last night, Peyton doesn’t make any move to cover herself as she scrambles out of bed.
Not that she should.
Every inch of that body is a dream. Even if Peyton is a nightmare.
She strolls over to her side of the room—yeah,thatworked—body swaying with each step. Beams of light catch her skin, illuminating the subtle curve of her ass, and I quickly glance away.
Definitely,definitelyshouldn’t be looking at that.
I tug on my gloves, snatching up anything and everything scattered on the floor and shoving it into my bag.
“How the hell is it almost eleven?” she asks, peering at her phone screen with a wrinkled brow. Her hip pops to the side as she shifts her weight, the curve of the bone peeking from beneath her skin, and—
Look away, Darcy. Look away.
“Because we stayed up way later than we should have,” I answer, averting my gaze. I sit on my bag to compress the contents inside, zipping it closed. When I sling it over my shoulder and spin around, Peyton hasn’t moved an inch. She’s still standing there, buck-ass-naked, bush out, ridiculously sexy, tapping on her phone. She looks up, lips curling into a teasing grin.
“I’m pretty sureyou’rethe one who keptmeup,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Not that I’m complaining.”
I roll my eyes, spotting a t-shirt balled up on her bed. I grab it and toss it at her. She catches it without even looking up.
