My eyes widened so fast the words blurred.
I shot up from the couch so abruptly that Roxie sprang sideways, offended, and Mo barked once in alarm.
“Ian!” I screamed, jumping up off the couch and running to the bedroom.
The bedroom light snapped on just as I reached the doorway.
Ian was already moving out of bed, phone in hand, hair in full disarray, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and an expression that said he was prepared to take down an intruder with sheer determination and a smartphone.
“What? What’s wrong?” he demanded, rushing toward me.
“Ian, I just?—”
My foot caught the corner of the throw rug.
Time slowed.
I pitched forward.
Ian lunged to catch me.
His elbow connected squarely with my jaw.
My head snapped back.
“Sorry—!”
He reached with his other hand to steady me.
And promptly smacked me in the eye with the phone he’d forgotten he was holding.
The world tilted.
We collided.
Somehow his arm wrapped around my waist mid-fall, twisting us at the last second so I landed on top of him as we hit the floor with a thud that rattled the nightstand.
Silence.
Mo barked once from the hallway.
Roxie shot under the bed like we’d detonated something.
Ian blinked up at me.
I blinked down at him.
He winced first.
“Oh no,” he breathed.
“What?”
He lifted his hand hesitantly and touched just beneath my eye.
I winced.
“That’s going to bruise.”
