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Then Peyton came along with her plants, her kindness and her uncanny ability to make my apartment feel lived in again.

I look down at her, unable to stop admiring the beautiful woman beside me. A strand of hair slips across her face and I gently brush it behind her ear. She makes the faintest sleepy sound before curling closer without ever opening her eyes.

Last night should've taken the edge off wanting her, but it didn't. If anything, the desire is stronger this morning. Because now I know exactly what it feels like to fall asleep holding her and wake up with her stealing half my pillow. Turns out I'm a big fan of losing my personal space to her. I never thought I'd miss having the bed to myself, but with Peyton, I'd gladly surrender every spare inch.

“Are you awake?” she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.

“Barely.”

Her lips curve against my bare skin. “That sounds medically concerning.”

“It’s too damn early for chatting,” I mutter.

“You know...” Her sentence is interrupted by a dramatic yawn. “Most people say good morning.”

“I was getting there. Good morning, Miss California.”

“Morning, handsome.” She nestles closer. “You were thinking so loudly you woke me up.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.”

Peyton cracks one eye open to look at me. “It definitely is.”

“Oh?” I say, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “And here I thought you were the morning person, but I guess a few orgasms changed that overnight.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Keep talking, and you’ll never get the chance to test that theory again.”

I laugh, catching her hand before she can poke me again. Peyton’s expression softens as her attention moves from my face to the ink on my skin. Her eyes travel over until they find the redwood tattoo on my right upper arm. It's the only one most people ever really see. I decided as a teenager to keep all my other tattoos in places I could easily cover with jeans and a T-shirt.

“I’ve always liked this one,” she murmurs, her fingertip tracing the outline of one of the branches, her touch featherlight against my skin.

“The tree?”

“No, the random squid disguised as a tree,” Peyton deadpans, squinting at it without her glasses. “Why a redwood?”

It’s a simple question but the answer is loaded with so much history. The ink took only an hour to complete, but I remember sitting there with my jaw locked while Jax worked, thinking the pain you chose was a hell of a lot easier than pain that chose you.

“Our final foster home was on Redwood Lane. Twenty-nine Redwood Lane, to be exact.”

Her hand stills on my arm and her expression softens. “Is that why Jax has 29RW tattooed across his knuckles?”

“You noticed that?” I ask, surprised.

“I spent half our afternoon at Coney Island trying to decode everyone's tattoos.”

I laugh. “Jax barely remembers the stories behind half of his. Soph also didn't have a single tattoo before they met and look at her now.”

“I love the guitar on her left arm. Actually, I love most of the designs I've seen on all of you.” She glances up through her lashes. “But I'd really love to see the rest of yours.”

“You had your chance last night,” I point out.

A faint blush creeps into her cheeks. “I was a little distracted.”

“Completely understandable.”

“Oh?” she says, trying for innocence.

“You seemed pretty focused on other parts of me.”