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“What the fuck?”

Pickles scrambles across me, all paws and offended little huffs, before wedging his entire body into the narrow space between us like he’s been personally summoned to intervene.

Then he turns in a circle and lies down directly on top of my partially unbuttoned jeans.

“Are you kidding me?” Wyatt demands, exasperated. “This is really terrible timing, buddy.”

Pickles lets out a long sigh and settles his chin on my stomach.

A laugh bursts out of me.

Wyatt reaches for him, but Pickles somehow becomes twice his normal weight, going completely limp while Wyatt tries to maneuver him off me.

“Come on, asshole.”

That makes me laugh again, and I put a hand on Wyatt’s arm. “I think Pickles has made the decision for us. We should probably go to sleep.”

“Probably,” Wyatt agrees with a sigh. He gives Pickles a pointed look. “But next time, I’m getting a sitter.”

***

The next morning, I wake up before Wyatt does.

His arm is heavy across my waist, Pickles is snoring near our feet, and pale morning light slips through the blinds.

For a while, I just lie there.

Wyatt’s warm against my back, his breathing slow and even, and everything about this feels strangely easy. Like waking up in his bed with his arm around me is something I could get used to.

And I think…

Yeah.

I don’t think this is a crush anymore.

I think I’m way past that.

Wyatt stirs behind me, his arm tightening around my waist before his eyes slowly blink open. When he finds me looking at him, a smile spreads across his face.

There’s nothing cocky about it. Nothing teasing.

It’s just Wyatt, soft with sleep, looking at me like I’m the good part of his morning.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning.”

Before either of us can say anything else, Pickles crawls up the bed and wedges himself directly between our faces.

Wyatt groans.

I start laughing.

A second later, he does too.

18

WYATT