I woke to sunlight and the smell of coffee.
Fao was in the kitchen, wearing nothing but sweatpants, making breakfast like the world hadn't almost ended yesterday.
Even after everything — the fear, the violence, the sleepless night — I caught myself staring. That broad back, the muscles shifting as he moved, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His long red hair was loose, falling past his shoulders, still damp from washing up in the creek.
Damn, some distant part of my brain noted. He's still really hot.
Apparently near-death experiences didn't kill my libido. Good to know.
"How do you feel?" he asked, bringing me a cup.
I considered the question. My face ached. My wrists were sore. My whole body felt like I'd been through a war.
But I was alive. Fao was alive. Trevor was running
