Jules
Harper’s throw of the pillow was dramatic enough to be personal and the pillow hit me square in the face; full impact, no hesitation, and I let out a muffled, “Jesus, Harper!” before peeling it off.
And then it hit me. No, I didn't mean the damn pillow, no. It was the smell.
Ryan’s.
It was clean soap, something woody and warm… cedar maybe, I wasn't sure… or just him, and underneath all that, the faintest hint of whatever detergent he pretends he doesn’t care about but obviously uses religiously. The scent wrapped around me the moment I hugged the pillow to my chest.
Traitorous body that it was, it relaxed instantly and I could see from the corner of my eyes, Harper smirked like she knew what I had just thought about.
“Skylar gets yours,” she said, pointing at the pillow in my
