I woke up with my hand down my panties and Sterling Hayes in my head.
Not metaphorically or poetically. Literally. My fingers were tucked under the elastic of my underwear, hips tilted, my breath coming in these slow, needy pulls like my body had decided to go on without me.
The realization hit with the shock of ice-water.
I yanked my hand away so fast I nearly punched myself.
“Ow,” I hissed, rolling onto my back and staring at the ugly yellow popcorn ceiling as if it had personally betrayed me.
Fantastic. I was m**********g in my sleep over the man who’d announced to a bar full of strangers that I had “good angles.”
Like I was a house he wanted to flip. Or a woman he wanted…
Nope. Abort. Too early. I had not had enough caffeine for that thought.
I threw my forearm over my eyes and
