Seventeen
The next morning, Luke woke fully rested for the first time in weeks, claimed by the most delightful contentment. Bright sunlight peeked through the curtained windows of his bedroom, and he idly wondered how long the respite from the storm—which had howled around his house most of the night—would last. The last time he’d checked, the forecast called for another wave of snow to hit the area by the early afternoon. It could dump ten feet and he wouldn’t care as long as he had Ryan to curl up with.
Memories of last night played wonderfully through his mind. Maybe it was the long span of time they’d both waited that had made their joinings so incredible, but he sincerely doubted it. The one time he’d been stupid enough to ask his father to compare June to other lovers, Ben had told
