Those words kept coming back to me, time and time again. Maybe I was fucked, but I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Carefully, so that I didn’t wake her, I brought my arm off the back of the couch and gently guided her down so that her head rested on my thigh.

And something not too far north enlarged. Perhaps that wasn’t the smartest idea, because it was too tempting to have her this close, but this . . . well, it felt right in a way that it had never felt with any other girl.

My chest lurched as Shortcake snuggled in, folding her hands together under her chin. I watched her for a moment, soaking up the smooth line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek and those rosy lips.

Damn, I was fucked in all the right ways.

I tried to pay attention to the movie, but I hadn’t even realized when it ended and the regular channel kicked back in. My eyes were on Avery once more. I wasn’t even sure my attention had ever left her.

I thought it was cool in the room, so I pulled the brown and green patchwork quilt over the back of the couch and draped it over her body. The bare expanse of her shoulder snagged my attention. Her shirt had slipped down her right arm and there was nothing but that little strap.

The soft glow of her skin lured me in and I was absolutely powerless to resist it. Lowering my hand, my breath caught as I touched the elegant curve of her shoulder.

Avery murmured in her sleep and wiggled a bit, but she didn’t wake up. It probably wasn’t cool to keep touching her, but I dragged my fingertips down her arm, relishing in the feel of her. Stopping at the hem of her shirt, my fingers grazed her silky skin all the way up to her cheek.

I was glad she was asleep, because the thought of her knowing how badly my hands shook would probably have been embarrassing as hell. Boy, they were trembling too, like I’d never touched a girl before.

Avery . . . hell, she completely undid me.

Tipping my head back against the couch, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard as I rested my hand on the flare of her hip. I could probably count on two fingers how many times I spent the evening with a beautiful girl curled up against me and asleep, when I was just content to be there with her. Part of my brain was telling me there was a word for this, as crazy as that word sounded and felt, so I ignored that part.

“No,” she murmured, and my eyes flew open. Her brow wrinkled, but she seemed to be asleep. “That’s not why I’m here . . .”