He exhales slowly. “I know,” he says, almost too quiet to hear.
But there’s a flicker of doubt in his chest, familiar like an old friend he can’t seem to let go. That nagging whisper that maybe he’s not. That maybe, even with the right girl, the right stick, the right everything…it still won’t be enough.
He doesn’t say it. He tightens his arm around her waist and lets her stay right where she is, warm and steady against him.
Then she shifts, slowly sliding over him again, her hair brushinghis chest, her mouth grazing the edge of his jaw. He can feel her smile before she speaks.
“Hey, Garrett…” she purrs.
He hums.
“Has it been twenty minutes yet?”
And just like that, the blood rushes south again.
He’s never been so happy to fail a recovery period in his life.
CHAPTER 28
NAOMI
There’s a man saying her name.
That’s the first thing she registers. A voice—low, coaxing, stupidly gentle—cutting through the molasses-thick haze of sleep.
“Naomi…”
She frowns, eyes still shut, resisting reality like a true champion. Her body is too warm. Her brain too soft. Her muscles liquified. If she were a pancake, she’d be sliding off the griddle, dribbling onto the floor in a slow, satisfied puddle.
“Naomi,” the voice says again, a little closer now.
She groans into the pillow. There’s morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, a tangle of hotel sheets wrapped around her bare legs, and the distinct, delicious ache of a night well spent with Garrett.
Her brain does a slow, glitchy reboot.
Garrett.
The memories hit like a film reel on fast-forward: the elevator wall, the headboard (RIP), the shower—holy shit, the shower—where he picked her up like she weighed nothing and pinned heragainst the tile, solving their whole height difference with one delicious, back-arching thrust.
And then…his body wrapped around hers, spooning her like a man-sized furnace with very grabby hands. Who knew Mr. Brooding Giant had a secret cuddler mode? Honestly, she should’ve seen it coming. No man with arms that big wasn’t going to use them like a weighted blanket.
“Naomi,” the voice says again, softer now.
She finally pries open one eye.
Garrett’s crouched beside the bed, fully dressed—T-shirt snug across his chest, jeans hugging those powerful thighs. She pouts at the presence of his clothes, already missing his abs.
He kneels next to her, one hand brushing her hair off her face like she’s fragile. Like she’s precious. It’s unfair, really. Waking up like this. Blissed-out and boneless, still tasting him on her lips, as he leans in close, smelling like soap and toothpaste.
Meanwhile, she probably looks like a swamp monster and smells like whatever the hell her mouth was doing last night. And she’d really committed to that mouth work.
“Morning,” he murmurs, lips twitching. “You alive?”
Naomi groans into the pillow but turns her head to smirk at him. “Barely. God, your dick should come with a waiver.”
His mouth twitches. “Not sorry.”
“You should be,” she mutters, stretching like a cat under the covers. “Pretty sure walking down stairs is going to be a nightmare for the foreseeable future."
