It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back, opting for, “It’s okay.” I reach out and run a hand over her silky hair, gently pressing her head onto the pillow. “Just go back to sleep.” Luke is crashed out on top of her arm anyway.

“Where will you sleep?” She blinks groggily.

“In Luke’s room.” I should take my hand off her, but I stroke her hair.

Soothing her or myself? Of that, I’m not entirely sure.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thank you. You were a godsend today.”

“That’s overkill, Eaton,” she mumbles, nuzzling her head into my pillow to hide from the compliment.

I wonder if she can smell me there.

Thumbing some of her hair, I push it back behind her ear, letting my fingers trail over the line of her jaw. “You need to learn how to take a compliment, Red. A simple thank-you is all it requires.”

“Oka—”

I press my thumb against her lips, entranced by how supple they feel under my touch. “Red. Just take the thank-you. Now shut up and go back to sleep.”

Her lips press together and she gives a firm nod. The motion makes Luke stir, but rather than waking up, he turns over and nuzzles into her chest, small hand splayed on her arm.

I watch Willa blink down at him, like she’s still trying to wrap her mind around where she is and what she’s doing. And when she looks up at me, uncertainty painted all over her pretty face, all I can do is smile.

Willa Grant looks way too good in my bed.

* * *

“I think I watched a porno like this once.”

My head snaps up from where I’m scrubbing the upholstery in the back of Willa’s Jeep. “Pardon me?” I pop around the open door and take her in, sitting on the top step of my front porch, wearing black leggings and a black tank top.

She looks good.

There is not a single place in this house this woman doesn’t look good.

I can see the outline of her nipple piercings, but more than anything, I’m entranced by the way her pale skin contrasts against the dark fabric of her clothes. The way her fiery hair seems even brighter.

“The grumpy mechanic guy with bulging muscles. A girl who can’t pay her bill. A tale as old as time.”

“The shit that comes out of your mouth sometimes.” I dry my hands on a piece of torn towel. It’s a pale pink. Like Willa’s lips.

“It’s the backward hat.” She points at me with a light chuckle. “You flipped the switch.”

“Have you ever been told that you use humor to cover up being uncomfortable?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.” She smiles, and I shake my head at her in wonder. “My mom’s a therapist, remember?”