Page 17 of Dirty Fighter

Okay, I’m drawing a blank on four because now that I’m awake and taking inventory… There’s a lot to take in.

At some point in the night, Jason lost his T-shirt and constructed a neat hedge of sheets and blanket that runs from the foot of the bed all the way up to the wall behind us.

The missing T-shirt is dangling from the desk lamp across the room. No sign of the designated DMZ pillow— oh, wait, seems I may have thrown it overboard on my side.

Oops.

My eyes are drawn to the bedding-made architectural marvel dividing us. And then, beyond to— whoa.

I should really… umm… What am I supposed to be doing again?

“Trying to decide how to kill me in my sleep?” he rumbles, that sleep-gruff voice somehow sounding more amused than accusatory or irritated.

He stretches wide. All the broad and brawn of his shoulders and chest expand to what looks like twice their size while the shift and pull of each muscle working in concert puts on a show that could be dangerous to the unprepared.

But it’s the corner of his chiseled lips twitching into a crooked grin that has my heart stuttering to a stop.

Last night, I thought there wasn’t anything worse than Jason’s laughter in the dark.

But now, I know.

Jason’s smile in the light of day is the truly destructive force.

“Maybe,” I croak, digging deep for last night’s tough-girl façade. “Too bad I missed my window.”

“Don’t sweat it.” In one fluid, eight-pack-abs flexing motion, he rolls up and away from me, swinging his legs off the bed. “You’ll get another.”

Jason

Waking up next to Rowan is confusing as fuck.

Not so much this morning as it was at two a.m. when the warm body beside me shifted, making one of those soft, sleepy noises that had my southern counterpart coming online before my brain.

Only for a few seconds though, and then…

WARM BODY = ROWAN

Right.

And then I was up… wondering what happened to the pillow that ensured I was going to wake up with my balls intact… trying not to toss and turn because attempting to sleep with a shirt on sucks.

I checked my phone, but no late-night calls from Lenard.

The team thread was quiet.

I thought about trying to break into Dad’s room again but didn’t want to scare the shit out of Rowan if she heard me rattling around.

So I tried to pile up the covers some. I ran through what I was going to say to Rowan this morning. And eventually, I must have knocked off again.

And when I woke up, at least I remembered who was in bed with me and why.

She didn’t seem so mad as last night, but reading Rowan isn’t my special skill. Fortunately, she seems a hell of a lot more interested in sharing her thoughts with the class these days.

I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and then get dressed in the bedroom. Still no early a.m. calls from Lenard.

By the time I make it into the kitchen, Rowan’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the logo of a sandwich place on the front, and the coffee’s already made.

She’s standing by the sink, one hip against the counter, staring out the window as she holds her mug in both hands close to her chest. It’s almost a mirror image of the way Gram would start her day.