Her eyes open, honey warm, then sharpen.Sleep to fight in an instant.
When she sees it’s me, she softens around the mouth, and the sight kicks me behind the knees.Her eyes sweep over me, taking in the purple robe like it’s a statement I didn’t intend to make.
“You smell like breakfast,” she rasps.
“Eat.”
“You okay?”She sits up and reaches for the toast first, like a civilized person.
“Better.”
“Cool,” she says around a mouthful of bread.“Because last night, you looked like a drowned prince, and I was seconds away from dragging you out of the shower by your hair and mouth-to-mouthing you without your consent.”
“Would’ve been awkward.”
“Which part?”
“The hair pulling.”
“I’d have managed.”She sips coffee, considers the color, and nods.“You remember how I take it.That’s either sweet or creepy.”
“Both.”
Her grin is a small, tilting sun.
“What’s that?”She directs her gaze to the books under my arm.
I hold up Frankie’s journal.“This one is a map.”
“Of what?”
“Hell.And how four people walked out.”
She squints at the book, then at me.“You gonna read it?”
“I’ll try.”The admission costs me, and it buys something, too.I show her the blank journal.“I might write a story.”
Her brows rise with interest.“About?”
“The fall of a drag queen.”With Frankie’s voice still warm in my head, I add, “And her resurrection as a wolf.”
Dove chews that answer like she chews toast.Thoughtfully.
“Love that,” she finally says.“I’ve never been interested in Prince Charming.Too boring.”She yawns.“So overdone.But an artistic, chain-smoking wolf in fuck-me boots and eyeliner?Now we’re talking.”
“That’s convenient.I’ve been hoarding cigarettes and sharpies for years.”
“Prove it.”She tips her chin at the blank journal.“With words.”
“Bossy.”
Lifting a shoulder, she takes another bite, and crumbs stick to her lower lip.
I stand there like an idiot, wanting to kiss them off.“I need a shower.”
“Go.”She lowers her voice.“Before I beg you to return to bed and this turns into a problem.”
“It’s already a problem.”
