The quiet hum of the central air conditioning was the first thing that drifted into my consciousness on Sunday morning. I opened my hazel eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar luxury of the main mansion’s guest suite. I rolled over, the silk sheets rustling around me, and immediately caught the lingering scent of cedarwood and leather.
I was still completely drowned in Mike’s massive black-and-gold varsity jacket hoodie.
I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest. My thoughts immediately drifted to the middle of the night—the quiet stillness of the bathroom, the meticulous way Mike’s large, calloused hands had wiped the sticky liquid from my face, and the rough honesty in his voice when he sat on the edge of my mattress.
He admitted he cares about me.
The thought made a strange, fluttering
