Page 50 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

Her laugh was low and heavy with sleep. She lifted her head and looked at me, her eyes soft, her pixie cut flattened on one side. Beautiful. She reached for her hair.

“Don’t.”

Her hand stopped. “Don’t what?”

“Fix it.”

“Elijah, I know I look crazy.”

“You look good in my bed.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

“It’s what matters.”

Her lips curved and she settled her chin against my chest and studied me.

“You’re one of those men.”

“What kind?”

“The kind who wakes up looking exactly how he looked when he went to sleep.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Your fade is still crisp. Your goatee is still lined. You don’t even have morning breath.”

“I brushed my teeth while you were sleeping.”

Her eyes widened. “You left me?”

“For three minutes.”

“And came back?”

“I told you there was no end.”

The amusement in her expression changed. Her fingertips moved along the fine hair on my chest. “About that.”

“Yes?”

“You said I was yours.”

“I did.”

“Was that the sex talking?”

“No.”

I hadn’t planned to say it, but there was a difference between an unplanned statement and a lie. Frankie watched me without moving.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“It means last night wasn’t enough for me.”

Her gaze lowered to my chest. “Sexually?”

“In every way.”