ZOE
I woke up feeling… cozy. Too cozy. Like, a cloud-and-heated-blanket hybrid kind of cozy. My cheek was smushed against something firm but oddly pillowy, and when I inhaled, I caught a scent that was musky, fresh, and ridiculously intoxicating.
What was that? Cedarwood? Laundry detergent? Pure masculine sin?
A contented purr escaped me as I snuggled closer, my arms wrapping around what I realized was an arm. A very solid arm.
“Morning to you too, kitten,” a low, amused voice rumbled above me.
My entire body froze.
Slowly—very slowly—I cracked one eye open, peeking up to confirm my worst fear.
There he was. Blake Thompson.
Hockey star, heartbreaker, professional smirker. Oh, and apparently, my new pillow.
I was curled up under his arm, my nose nuzzled so close to his bicep I
