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SUCCESSFUL NIGHT
CLAIR
Morning comes slowly through the truck windows, and for a few seconds, I don’t move, because I don’t want to.
Sometime before dawn, after cold air and common sense finally won, we crawled into the back seat with our clothes half on and the blanket dragged over us.
I’m tucked against Leon in the back seat, my cheek resting against the solid warmth of his chest, one of his arms wrapped around my waist making sure I can’t drift too far, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. The kind of sound a person could build a whole life around if the world weren’t such a raging dumpster fire.
My legs are tangled with his, the blanket half kicked off, and the air inside the truck is fogged at the edges from our breathing. His green flannel is wrapped around me, my jeans are somewhere on the floorboard, and the blanket is the only thing standing between my dignity and the gray morning light.
A pleasant ache settles low in my body when I shift. Last night rolls through me in flashes. His hands. His mouth. His restraint snapping only after I asked. He looked at me like I was wanted. Powerful. His choice.
A smile pulls at my mouth.
I’ve spent so many years denying myself anything that felt too good, too easy, too selfish. I let other people’s voices crawl into my head and set up camp there. Russ. My parents. Every person who made wanting something for myself feel like a flaw I needed to correct.
No more.
Leon shifts beneath me, his arm tightening around my waist for one sleepy second, pulling me closer before he seems to realize I’m already there. A rough sound leaves him, tender against my hair.
I lift my head. His eyes open slowly, green and heavy lidded, red hair messy from sleep, my hands, and everything we did under the stars. His gaze finds mine, and neither of us moves. His mouth curves, and my heart does something stupid and fluttery in my chest.
“Morning,” I whisper.
He answers by lifting one hand to my face, his thumb brushing along my cheek before he leans in and kisses me. Sweetly. Slowly. Not like last night. Not hungry and desperate and wildfire hot. This kiss curls my toes under the blanket and makes the soreness between my legs feel like a secret I’m suddenly very proud of.
When he pulls back, my pulse is embarrassingly unsteady.
His smile turns smug.
I poke him in the chest. “You’re very annoying for a man who doesn’t even say anything out loud.”
His brows lift. Then he reaches blindly for his notebook on the floorboard, never taking his eyes off me. He flips it open and writes with the pencil tucked in the spiral before turning it toward me. Still charming, though.
I snort. “Debatable.”
His grin widens, and the warmth in me bumps against something sharper. Reality.
I pull the blanket a little higher even though there’s no one here to see me. “We need to talk about Poppy.”
His face stills.
“She’s been through a lot with Russ,” I say, looking down at where my fingers rest against his chest. “I don’t want her to think I’m just replacing him.”
Leon’s thumb moves once against my side.
“I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to scare her. And I don’t want her thinking this means she has to trust someone before she’s ready.”
Leon shifts carefully, sitting up and pulling me with him so we are side by side. The blanket slips, and I very maturely do not stare at his abs.
Okay. I stare a little.
He writes, then passes me the notebook.
I already talked to her.
My head snaps up. “You what?”
