When I leave the next day, trying not to think about how waking up next to Bear feels right, there’s a text waiting for me from Sawyer. An address.
What’s this?
Tonight at 7. Be there. Is all I get. Bear’s rubbing off on Sawyer.
The destination turns out to be an industrial area of town. Sawyer opens the door to a shady looking warehouse.
“Everything all right?”
“It is now.” He tucks a stand of hair behind my ear, cups my chin and kisses me deeply before drawing me inside. We pass through a large dark space, a room glowing with a low red light, and climb up to a loft lit by the windows above. It’s a sparsely decorated living space, with one of Sawyer’s black and white prints, a leather couch that’s seen better days, and a big screen TV. Derelict chic. I bite my lip before I can ask if
