living with him. He’s always the last to leave the office, and that means I’m always awake before he is. Getting my things out of the bedroom and into the main bathroom so I don’t wake him while getting ready is a huge challenge.
I’m not the most eloquent of people, if I’m honest with myself.
Somehow, I manage to get my clothes, my makeup, and my hairbrush without disturbing him, and I creep down the hall to the main bathroom to get ready. I breathe a sigh of relief when I get there, because Drake has two sleeping options: either he’s virtually comatose or he’s sleeping so lightly that he may as well just be resting his eyes.
Usually, after the discovery of a dead body and a long night working, it’s the former.
I get ready in no time at all, choosing to throw my hair into a scruffy twist on top of my head and forgo most of my makeup. Ensuring Drake has sufficient coffee to person when he wakes up is honestly more important than covering that—
Son of a bitch. There’s a spot on my chin.
His coffee can wait.
I’m not that much of a damn hero.
I snatch my concealer from the bag and perform an emergency coverage. Of course, that emergency coverage requires foundation and powder over it to even it out, so my forgoing the makeup ends up in a full face America’s Next Top Model’s makeup artists would be proud of. The messy hair is staying though.
It looks like it’s gonna rain. Nobody needs to see my hair in this humidity.
I carry my shoes downstairs so they don’t clomp against the wooden stairs and leave them in the hall. I choose to ignore the open door to the spare room. There’s no chance of that closet getting finished any time soon.
I sigh as I push the button on the coffee machine, thankful for my thoughtfulness to prepare it last night.
Dead bodies are really quite inconvenient sometimes. I don’t think even I can reinstate my brain-to-mouth filter long enough to put that in a nicer way. Every time plans are made, a body shows up. And Drake honestly wonders why I refuse to plan a vacation.
I know that, the day we’ll be due to leave, someone will die. That seems to be the Holly Woods way lately.
I pour myself a mug of coffee with one hand and tap my other nails against the counter top. Not to mention this is going to be a long-ass month. This case will be complicated, and with Drake’s dad...
I finish making my coffee and grab my phone to text Gianna, but I stop before I pull my messages up. Text her for what? What am I going to find out? It’s not like there’ll have been news in the past twenty-four hours.
God. It feels like a week has passed since she told me that Malcolm has cancer, but it was only yesterday morning.
Yep. Long-ass month is an understatement.
“What are you doing?” Drake asks in a husky voice thick with sleep. “Sounds like a baby machine gun down here.”
I stop the nail-tapping. “Sorry. Just thinking. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
He waves me off, rubbing his left eye, and pulls a mug from the cupboard. “I have to get to work anyway.”
“Um...you’ve barely slept.”
He nods in acknowledgment. Maybe that’s why he’s skipping sugar and cream and drinking his coffee black. Even he shudders at the first mouthful.
I put my mug down with a frown and take his to make it the way he likes it. Jesus Christ. The man’s an overgrown child—tired or not. Not to mention he’s insulting coffee by not making it correctly.
“Here,” I say, handing the mug back to him. “Try this.”
He swigs, swallows, and reaches for me. His arm scoops around my shoulders, and he pulls me against his hard, hot body. He gently kisses the top of my head, whispering, “Thank you.”
“You really need to go back to sleep.”
He looks down at me, his eyes bright despite the slightly gray shadows beneath his eyes. “I’ll catch a nap later. You didn’t actually wake me up. I forgot to turn off my alarm.”
I purse my lips at him. And to think I felt
I’m not the most eloquent of people, if I’m honest with myself.
Somehow, I manage to get my clothes, my makeup, and my hairbrush without disturbing him, and I creep down the hall to the main bathroom to get ready. I breathe a sigh of relief when I get there, because Drake has two sleeping options: either he’s virtually comatose or he’s sleeping so lightly that he may as well just be resting his eyes.
Usually, after the discovery of a dead body and a long night working, it’s the former.
I get ready in no time at all, choosing to throw my hair into a scruffy twist on top of my head and forgo most of my makeup. Ensuring Drake has sufficient coffee to person when he wakes up is honestly more important than covering that—
Son of a bitch. There’s a spot on my chin.
His coffee can wait.
I’m not that much of a damn hero.
I snatch my concealer from the bag and perform an emergency coverage. Of course, that emergency coverage requires foundation and powder over it to even it out, so my forgoing the makeup ends up in a full face America’s Next Top Model’s makeup artists would be proud of. The messy hair is staying though.
It looks like it’s gonna rain. Nobody needs to see my hair in this humidity.
I carry my shoes downstairs so they don’t clomp against the wooden stairs and leave them in the hall. I choose to ignore the open door to the spare room. There’s no chance of that closet getting finished any time soon.
I sigh as I push the button on the coffee machine, thankful for my thoughtfulness to prepare it last night.
Dead bodies are really quite inconvenient sometimes. I don’t think even I can reinstate my brain-to-mouth filter long enough to put that in a nicer way. Every time plans are made, a body shows up. And Drake honestly wonders why I refuse to plan a vacation.
I know that, the day we’ll be due to leave, someone will die. That seems to be the Holly Woods way lately.
I pour myself a mug of coffee with one hand and tap my other nails against the counter top. Not to mention this is going to be a long-ass month. This case will be complicated, and with Drake’s dad...
I finish making my coffee and grab my phone to text Gianna, but I stop before I pull my messages up. Text her for what? What am I going to find out? It’s not like there’ll have been news in the past twenty-four hours.
God. It feels like a week has passed since she told me that Malcolm has cancer, but it was only yesterday morning.
Yep. Long-ass month is an understatement.
“What are you doing?” Drake asks in a husky voice thick with sleep. “Sounds like a baby machine gun down here.”
I stop the nail-tapping. “Sorry. Just thinking. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
He waves me off, rubbing his left eye, and pulls a mug from the cupboard. “I have to get to work anyway.”
“Um...you’ve barely slept.”
He nods in acknowledgment. Maybe that’s why he’s skipping sugar and cream and drinking his coffee black. Even he shudders at the first mouthful.
I put my mug down with a frown and take his to make it the way he likes it. Jesus Christ. The man’s an overgrown child—tired or not. Not to mention he’s insulting coffee by not making it correctly.
“Here,” I say, handing the mug back to him. “Try this.”
He swigs, swallows, and reaches for me. His arm scoops around my shoulders, and he pulls me against his hard, hot body. He gently kisses the top of my head, whispering, “Thank you.”
“You really need to go back to sleep.”
He looks down at me, his eyes bright despite the slightly gray shadows beneath his eyes. “I’ll catch a nap later. You didn’t actually wake me up. I forgot to turn off my alarm.”
I purse my lips at him. And to think I felt
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