With a growl, I crawl down the mattress, tangled in the sheet, squinting through the dim light while the alarm continues its relentless shrieking.
“Where the hell are you?” I mutter.
The mattress shifts behind me.
“Harleigh?” Porter’s voice is rough with sleep.
I freeze halfway down the bed, hair hanging in my face.
The alarm shrieks again.
“Make it stop,” I groan.
He lets out a sleepy chuckle and pushes himself upright. The bed creaks softly as he rubs a hand over his face.
The pale glow of early morning spills through the window now, painting the room in soft gold.
Porter glances around, still waking up. “Hang on.”
He leans over the side of the bed and grabs his jeans from the floor. The denim is rumpled and half inside out from last night.
Fishing into the pocket, he pulls out his phone.
The alarm wails again just as he taps the screen.
Sweet, blessed silence.
“Oh, thank God,” I sigh.
I collapse backward onto the pillows, stretching my legs.
My eyes close immediately.
The bed shifts again as Porter swings his legs over the side. The floor creaking under his weight.
I squint at the ceiling. “What time is it?”
“Six thirty.”
My eyes snap open. “Six thirty?” I croak.
He’s already standing, pulling his jeans up his hips.
“We didn’t even leave the bar until one o’clock,” I remind him, my voice thick with disbelief.
He laughs softly under his breath. “I know.”
I push up on one elbow, watching him.
His back is to me as he reaches for his shirt. The muscles in his shoulders flex as he slides his arms into the sleeves.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why in God’s name is your alarm set for six thirty on a Saturday?”
He starts buttoning his shirt, glancing over his shoulder at me. “My parents are coming in from Cheyenne.”
I blink. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” he says, fastening another button. “I’m supposed to meet them for breakfast.”
