I glance down at the arm wrapped around me, studying the rough hand resting against my stomach. His fingers are relaxed but strong, the kind of hands that come from years of working with tools and engines and whatever other dangerous things men like Cole tend to do for a living. The sleeve of his T-shirt stretches tightly over a bicep that looks like it could probably lift half the equipment in Wayne’s bar if someone asked nicely.
I shift just a little, testing whether I can roll over without waking him.
The arm tightens instantly.
Not rough. Not even really conscious.
Just instinct.
Like his body noticed the movement before his brain caught up.
My mouth twitches slightly against the pillow.
Well.
That’s new.
I tilt my head slightly and glance around the room, and that’s when I realize something else.
The bed is full.
And not in the romantic, two-people-tangled-up-in-sheets kind of way.
Moose is sprawled across the foot of the bed like someone dropped a furry sack of concrete there in the middle of the night. One of his back legs hangs halfway off the mattress, and every time he exhales his whole body shifts slightly with a deep, rumbling snore.
Daisy is curled tightly behind my knees, her tail occasionally twitching against the blankets like she’s chasing something in her dreams.
Cricket, apparently having made a very important life decision sometime during the night, is perched squarely on Cole’s shoulder. Not curled beside him. Not near him.
On him.
Like she climbed up there and decided she lives there now.
At the top of the bed, Bandit is loafed comfortably on Cole’s pillow with his paws tucked under his chest, watching me with the smug expression of a cat who clearly believes he chose the best spot in the room and everyone else can deal with it.
And on the floor beside the bed, Outlaw is stretched out on his back with his belly fully exposed like a dramatic Victorian painting of a fallen hero.
I blink slowly.
Then glance back over my shoulder at the man currently buried in the middle of this animal pile.
Cole is still completely asleep.
His dark hair is a mess against the pillow, one arm still locked around my waist while Cricket balances comfortably on his shoulder like she’s been doing it for years. Moose is snoring, Daisy is twitching in her sleep, and both cats have apparently decided this large, dangerous biker makes a perfectly acceptable piece of bedroom furniture.
I press my lips together.
Mostly because I’m trying not to laugh.
The man looks like he accidentally wandered into a farm sleepover.
I shift slightly on the pillow so I can see his face more clearly.
Up close he looks… different.
The hard lines around his mouth have softened in sleep, and the crease that usually sits between his eyebrows like he’s permanently evaluating every situation in the room has smoothed out. He looks younger like this. Not dramatically, but enough that it catches me off guard.
My chest does a strange little squeeze.
