That’s when I see him.
Logan.
On the couch.
His head tipped back, his jaw tight, one hand buried under the waistband of his shorts.
And then—God help me—he moans.
“Cass…mmm.”
My name.
My actual name.
I freeze.
Heat floods me from head to toe, as if the universe is laughing and fanning the flames. He shifts slightly, still half-asleep—or maybe not asleep at all—and murmurs something else under his breath. Something filthy and sweet and so Logan it makes my knees wobble.
I clamp a hand over my mouth and tiptoe back up the stairs.
I shut the door.
I lock it.
And then…
Well.
Let’s just say I take care of business.
And I sleep like a damn baby after that.
Chapter Eleven
LOGAN
I wake up with a ridiculous smile on my face. That’s the first red flag.
The second is the half-formed memory of a dream—something about Cassie, flour on her cheek, and her bare thighs wrapped around me on the kitchen counter.
The third is the hard-on that’s still not going anywhere, even though I’m very much awake.
I scrub a hand down my face.
Did I say her name out loud?
No way. But somehow, I think I did.
Should Inothave choked the chicken at 3 a.m. last night on the couch? Look, I couldn’t sleep. I had no other choice. Big game today.
I throw on a hoodie, attempt to tame my hair, and make my way down the stairs like a man facing judgment day.
And there she is at the kitchen counter.
Sunlight streaming in behind her like she’s in a Folgers commercial. Her hair’s up in some kind of messy knot, she’s wearing a faded tee, and those little soft shorts that should be illegal. The domestic goddess look isnothelping me forget last night’s dream.
“Morning,” I say, casually. Like a totally normal person who definitely didn’t dream-moan her name while jerking off in a twilight stupor.
