Page 108 of Donovan's Men

Jesus, I want them again.

And not just in the physical way—although I did as well. But I wanted to know them. To delve into their souls—but not as their therapist. As their friend. As their confidant.

As their lover.

Donovan shivered. “Okay, it’s a little chilly.”

Reluctantly, I withdrew. Immediately, I missed the solid warmth of Donovan’s chest. “I’ll, uh, go and get the blankets.”

“I’ll join you.” Donovan snagged my hand. “Tyson’s going to get under the sheet and start warming our bed.”

Our bed. I wanted that to be a forever kind of thing, and holy cow, that thought was way too soon in our relationship. I didn’t even know Tyson’s middle name. Or how Donovan preferred his eggs. Tyson and I had stopped off at the grocery store on our way back from the sea wall and bought enough food to feed a proverbial army. We didn’t have to leave this place at all if we didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to.

Well, Donovan had to go to work, unfortunately, but we would wait for him. We’d always wait for him.

After surveying the contents of the linen closet, I handed Donovan the wool and fleece blankets, grabbing the cotton myself. Cold had begun to seep into my bones, and I hoped Tyson was generating a little heat.

Donovan headed back toward the bedroom. “I think we should try the wool one. This condo’s damn cold.”

“I can turn up the heat. I mean, I don’t know how you—”

“I’m a good Canadian lad.” Donovan winked. “I’ve played hockey in minus ten.”

“Celsius, I presume.” I smiled guilelessly.

Donovan paused for a moment, obviously doing the calculations. “Fuck yes. Oh God, I can’t contemplate anything colder.”

“Good thing you’ve never lived in the Yukon.”

“Right next to Alaska? Hell fucking no.” He nudged me into my bedroom. “I like being the warmest spot in Canada right now. Even if it is fucking cold with the threat of snow.”

Dark had long come, and I hadn’t checked the weather forecast in a couple of days. I chuckled. “You didn’t like LA?” I placed my blanket on the chair and snagged the fleece one to add to the pile.

Then we laid the wool one over a fetal-position curled Tyson and tucked in the sides and bottom.

“You know our physical exertions are going to dislodge that.” Donovan crawled into my side and scooted to the middle. He lay on his back.

Tyson had turned off the light on his nightstand, so I did the same with mine and crawled into the bed beside Donovan. “Damn.”

“What?” His voice carried amusement at my swear.

“I didn’t pull the blackout blinds.” Even as my vision adjusted, the light pollution from the city filtered in. All the books I’d read on proper sleep etiquette extolled the virtue of blackout blinds and how any light could interfere with circadian rhythms.

Donovan chuckled. “You’re going to be so exhausted you won’t even notice. I have them at home but don’t use them often.”

“Why not?” Tyson moved under the sheets, causing them to shift. “Mine are always closed.”

“Because the light keeps me grounded—reminds me there are other people out there in the world.”

So much to unpack in one simple statement.

But that discussion could wait.

I tucked myself in against Donovan and sighed.

“This is going to be awkward.” Donovan’s amused chuckle had me grinning.