“Shit.”

“Surely you both knew this could happen when he called you up on that stage.”

“I never imagined he’d do it, honestly, and once he did, I was too shocked to think that far ahead.” But I’m thinking ahead now. Specifically, about the call I’m bound to get from my mother and sister the second they see the article.

There’s another knock on the door. Shay looks toward the sound, then to me.

“Teagan?” Carter’s voice is low, cautious. “Are you awake?”

Shay snorts. “Just an act, huh? Who exactly are you two acting for this morning?”

I swallow hard. We were pretending, but sometimes pretend leads to something more. In this case, his hand between my legs and the best orgasm I’ve had in years. I bite my lip at the memory. Damn.

Another knock. “Teagan?”

“She’s coming!” Shay calls, flashing a wicked grin at me as if she knows I was considering ignoring him.

“Seriously?” I ask. “I’m blaming you if I don’t make it back to bed this morning.”

Her grin spreads wider, and mischief dances in her eyes. “Isn’t that up to Carter?”

I let out a low growl. “Get out of here, brat.”

She takes a step toward the door then stops, pointing at me. “By the way, you might want to do something about that love bite on your neck before you leave the house.”

I throw a kitchen towel at her. “Go.”

She winks, but then her face goes serious. “Don’t break his heart, okay? I know he’s a bit of a player, but he’s sensitive under that tough-guy façade. You’re my best friend, but he’s my brother, and I’d hate to have to punch you in the babymaker.” And with that, she opens the front door and breezes out past her brother.

Carter’s brows shoot into his hairline. “Bye, sis!”

“Bye,” she says over her shoulder, already jogging away.

Carter walks through my barely there foyer to the living room. My house—which is pretty small to begin with—shrinks around us, and I swallow. I’m still half-asleep and am nearly bowled over by a surge of memory and lust as I take him in. Carter. In my house. Steps from my bed.

Oh, hell, I’m in trouble.

Teagan

Carter hasn’t shaved today, and his cheeks are scruffier than usual, making him exude even more testosterone and sex appeal than normal. His long-sleeve T-shirt is molded over his chest and shoulders, and when he shoves his hands into his pockets, his jeans dip dangerously low on his hips and expose the waistband of his boxers.

A shiver runs through me as I remember the feel of him—hands roaming, his hard body pressed against me, hot breath on my neck. Every cell between my thighs and my navel is suddenly doing its best Oliver Twist impression: “Please, sir, I want some more.”

“Is it okay that I’m here?” he asks cautiously.

Probably best to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t it be?”