Page 83 of Sour Notes

Like, crazy good.

Despite getting verbally attacked by my toxic ex last night.

And I’m not even drunk.

Maybe dumping my emotional baggage on my roomie helped.

The spooning wasn’t bad either. Pete wasn’t a cuddler. The only people I’ve ever spooned with are Haven and Kim, and Kim’s a kicker, so that’s always a risky move.

Swayze doesn’t seem to have any such issues. As far as spoons go, he's a top-tier spooner.

I fell asleep so easily in his big, warm arms, and he didn’t let me go all night.

He’s not a bad forker either since we’re measuring stats…

“Coffee, my lady?” Swayze snaps me back to the present, walking toward me, mug in hand.

My cheeks flush, heart jumping in panic at him figuring out where my mind was. He looks sexy as all hell with his hair all tousled, a wide smile stretching across his stubbled jaw, but I think I’m safe. He doesn’t know I was just thinking about his prong.

See what I did there? It’s the little things.

My eyes connect with his crystal-clear gaze, and his grin somehow spreads even wider. I’m not the only one who seems brighter today.

Doomscrolling and self-analysis forgotten, I drop my phone to the bed.

“What’s got you in such a good mood? I know you didn’t get lucky last night—you were stuck listening to my emotional word vomit. Sorry about that, by the way.” My cheeks heat again, still mortified at my little episode. I don’t like doing that. I generally deal with my crap myself.

He laughs, looking way too hot in nothing but board shorts.

“Who says I didn’t get lucky?”

“Jesus, if you did, we have wildly different definitions of the word. What’s yours?”

“Hmmm… I got to listen to you snore cuddled up next to me instead of from the floor. My back thinks we got pretty damn lucky.”

He sets the coffee cup on the bedside table beside me and plants a kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering for a brief second.

That move absolutely does not send butterflies fluttering wildly inside me.

Nope, not one bit.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” He squats down to rifle through his suitcase.

Sweet Jesus, the rippling back muscles would make a stone statue weep. He looks like he could take on The Rock in the ring, not be a freakin’ PD officer. Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration, but holy cow.

Welcome to my mind, everyone.

Last night, I unpacked all my baggage and showed the dude just how fucking broken I am.

Today, I’m perving over him like he’s shirtless Taylor, and I’m Team Jacob circa 2013.

Ha, maybe I’ve always had a thing for wolves.

“Mia?” Swayze looks over his shoulder at me, blinking expectantly. What he’s waiting for I don’t even remember right now.

Dammit, Jacob. This is your fault, you hellhound.

“I asked what was on the itinerary today,” he drawls, amusement lacing his tone.