Page 129 of Just One More Thing

“Yeah. Pinch me.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously like she’s trying to determine whether this is a trap. Then she lifts one hand from where it’s spread warm against my ribs and pinches me just hard enough to sting.

“Ow. You got entirely too much pleasure out of that,” I tell her.

“You’re not suffering. You had plenty of pleasure this morning.” Her laugh vibrates against my chest, and I grin up at the ceiling.

Sunrise spills through the windows. I can hear water lapping against the pilings through the screens. Hank’s still asleep in the living room, snoring loud enough to qualify as machinery. The sheets are twisted around our legs. Mo’s hair is spread over my pillow and shoulder, and my arm’s gone numb underneath her.

Best morning of my life.

I still can’t quite believe I woke up with Emory Donovan curled against me in my bed.

Hence the pinch.

Just making sure I’m not dreaming.

I’m not.

Though honestly this still feels close to one.

Psskt.

She lifts her head and squints toward the nightstand. “You really need to change your text tone.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“A beer opening at six in the morning is…” She makes a face. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not right.”

I run a hand slowly down her bare back. “What would you prefer to hear at six in the morning?”

“Bacon sizzling.”

I look down at her. “You hungry?”

“Always.”

“Good. I can do bacon.”

I ease out from under her, and she makes a sleepy little noise before stealing my pillow. I drag on a pair of shorts and head toward the kitchen while she cocoons herself deeper into the sheets behind me.

Hank lifts his head from the couch. His foot starts thumping when he sees me awake. Then he stretches all four legs straight out in front of himself and groans like he just worked a double shift down at the docks. “Morning, buddy.”

He yawns so wide I can practically see all the way to yesterday, then drops his head back onto the couch with dramatic exhaustion.

“Still sleepy?”

He snorts.

From the bedroom, Mo calls, “Jake your phone is getting drunk.”

I laugh and pull bacon from the fridge. “See who it is.”

I hear sheets rustle.

“Oh.”

I glance toward the hallway. “What?”