SLOANE
Something warm was pressed against my back.
I opened my eyes to sunlight streaming through my living room window, the kind of bright that meant it was late morning. My neck ached from the angle of the couch cushion. My mouth tasted like stale coffee and fear.
And Jackson's arm was draped over my waist.
I froze. Listened to his breathing, slow and even against my shoulder. We were still dressed, thank God. Still on top of the blanket I kept folded over the back of the couch.
Still very much tangled together.
I should move. Extract myself before this got more awkward than it already was.
I didn't move.
His warmth seeped through my shirt. Solid. Real. The weight of his arm anchored me to something that felt suspiciously like safety.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table. I reach
