Mace sleeps with me that night, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.
He slides underneath the thin blankets, facing me as he lay his head against the pillow. I don’t know where to look at, so I roll over and lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare turn my head to look at him. He inches closer and plants a kiss on my forehead, and buries his nose in my hair, breathing me in.
“You smell good,” he says, sighing contentedly.
I can feel the blush rise on my cheeks. I turn my head to the side to hide my blush. He hooks his fingers under my chin and turns my face to face him.
“I probably smell like crap,” I say. “I haven’t taken a bath in days.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “You smell like a field of lavender. What do I smell
