Page 42 of His Reckoning

I close the laptop slowly and fall back onto the bed.

“Well,” I mutter to the ceiling, “that was short-lived.”

The room is quiet again—too quiet.

I stare at the ceiling for another minute before rolling onto my side.

The gym scene replays in my head anyway. As well as the fact that I turned it into a fully formed romance scene in under fifteen minutes.

I groan and bury my face in the pillow.

Eventually, exhaustion wins, and I fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning, I wake up slowly, disoriented for a moment.

Then I remember my temporary living situation … and unfortunately, the gym.

I sit up and immediately grab my laptop from the nightstand.

I open the document.

Still blank. Good.

I close the laptop again and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

“New day,” I tell myself. “Fresh start.”

No thinking about the gym, Sawyer, or his stupid pull-ups.

Ten minutes later, I walk into the kitchen.

Sawyer is already there. Of course he is.

He’s standing at the counter in a dark shirt and dress pants, pouring coffee like someone who has already been awake for hours.

I stop in the hallway.

For a moment, I consider retreating back to my room, but that would be obvious. So, instead, I walk forward like a completely normal human being.

“Morning.”

Sawyer glances up. “Morning.” He slides a second mug across the counter toward me. “I made extra.”

“Thanks.”

I take the mug and lean against the island. The silence lasts about three seconds. Then my brain starts doing something extremely unhelpful.

Noticing things.

Like the way his shirt fits across his shoulders. Or the fact that his hair is still slightly damp from a shower.

Or the memory of last night in the gym.

I take a sip of coffee.

“So,” I say casually, “sleep better after your workout?”