I carefully tilt my head upward, peering at him.
Daltyn’s still asleep. Dark lashes rest over his cheeks. His blond hair is messy. And his face is soft with sleep.
Unfortunately for me? Morning-stubbled goalie after emotional vulnerability last night might actually be my final cause of death.
I should move.
Right now.
And I should definitely let go of his hard-on.
Instead, I stare at him for another five full seconds like a creep.
Then his eyes open, locking with mine.
There goes my remaining dignity.
Neither of us moves.
His arm stays around my waist. Mine stays wrapped around him.
Something warm and dangerously quiet stretches between us in the early morning light.
“Morning,” he says roughly. The deep, sleepy rasp in his voice does genuinely terrible things to my nervous system.
“Morning,” I whisper back.
His eyes drift briefly downward to where my hand is curled around him like I never want to let go.
“Um... Peyton.”
Heat floods my face.
“I can explain.”
One dark blond brow lifts slightly.
“I had a nightmare.”
“I remember. But that’s not an explanation for where your hand is.”
I finally snatch my hand away. “It was an accident.”
A smirk curls his lips. “You accidentally grabbed my cock?”
My face is an inferno. “I... uh... I can explain.”
“Really?”
“I’m not a creepy cock toucher. I swear.”
BANG. BANG. BANG.
We both jolt violently. My hand falls away from his dick.
“DALTYN!” Gram yells through the door. “OPEN UP! I BROUGHT EMOTIONAL SUPPORT MUFFINS!”
I close my eyes and groan.
