“You thought I was grumpy?” I ask dryly. “I was fighting for my life.”
Her laughter fills the apartment, warm and bright and perfect. I swear I’d burn cities down just to hear that sound.
She settles against me again after a minute, softer this time. Comfortable, like she belongs here. Like she belongs with me.
I tighten my arms around her automatically.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
I nod against the top of her head. “Yeah.”
More than okay. For the first time in years, work hasn’t crossed my mind once this weekend. I haven’t checked emails, haven’t thought about meetings, haven’t cared about anything outside these four walls.
Just her.
I kiss her temple slowly, breathing her in.
“Hudson?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad you broke in here this weekend.”
I grin against her skin. “You opened the door for me willingly.”
“Debatable.”
“You literally waved me into your place.”
“You had breakfast,” she says simply.
“You knew I was coming over. I asked you out, remember?”
“I thought it was a normal dinner date.”
“Never said that. I remember you opening the door, practically begging me to come inside and have breakfast with you, then kissing me senseless?—”
“You kissed me first!”
“Would you like me to do it again?” I ask huskily, drawing her against me.
Her eyes darken immediately. God, I love how responsive she is to me.
“Maybe,” she whispers.
A million fantasies hit me at once. I’m debating which one to act on first when she smiles softly and glances at the takeout containers on the coffee table.
“We should probably clean up.”
“Later.”
“You said that an hour ago, and three hours before that.”
“And I meant it every time.”
Hazel laughs quietly before climbing off my lap and gathering the empty containers anyway. I watch her walk toward the kitchen, my gaze locked on the sway of her hips beneath my shirt.
Fuck, I’m never surviving this woman.
