As our breathing calms, he shifts his weight onto his side. He caresses my neck and shoulder, and I hum my approval of his soft touch.

“I like it when you take charge,” he says. I reach up and run my fingers through his short hair, ruffling the longer pieces along his crown. “Maybe you’ll like it when you finally let me take control.”

“You mean, tie me up?”

A borderline evil grin flashes. He chuckles and slaps the side of my ass. “Get up. Get packed. Now I’m starving.”

“Packed?”

“Remember? My house. Early morning.”

“I didn’t agree…” There’s a flirty smile plastered on my face, but inside alarm bells ring. Sleeping together implies more, and we aren’t doing that, are we? Packing to spend the night at his house?

“Dog,” he says as he lumbers into the bathroom.

“I can be ready early in the morning,” I tell him through the bathroom door.

“Don’t you need someone to take care of the yapper?”

“Trace has been my dog for fourteen years. He is not a yapper.” I snatch my clothes off the floor and sidestep him as he exits the bathroom. He loops an arm around my waist, catching me.

“Pack extra clothes in case we need to stay the night in San Diego. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow.”

I do need Stella to watch my dog. And we have a very early morning. So I say, “Fine.”

We shagged. I can stay the night and it won’t mean anything. But there is one thing he needs to remember.

“Don’t forget. No one is to know that anything happened here.” I wag my finger over the bed. It wouldn’t reflect well.

“I remember. Is Trace’s food in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll pack it.” Barefoot, he exits my bedroom, looking far too comfortable in my home.

Ryan did not lie when he said I’d like his bed. Larger than a California king, it is custom made. He has to get custom sheets made for it. I asked. My feet haven’t had that much room at the end of a bed since elementary school. Trace stretched out at the bottom as if even he found the extra space to be luxurious.

As expected, Ryan woke at an ungodly hour. I slept a little later and have now showered, packed, and have poured myself a cup of the coffee Ryan made before leaving. Black leather and dark furniture dominate Ryan’s apartment. Pre-programmed automated shades opened early this morning, letting sunlight brighten the monotone space.

A knocking sound on the door alerts Trace from his spot stretched out on the sofa, but he doesn’t bark. This isn’t his space, therefore he’s not territorial.

When I open the door, Stella from the Arrow offices stands before me in a robe, her auburn hair twisted on top of her head in a messy bun.

“Hi. I thought I’d try to catch you before you guys leave so I can meet Trace. Sorry I couldn’t come over last night. My son had a game.”