June

The next day—after rounds and rounds of lovemaking that left my body soft and aching in the sweetest way—I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling while Hermes is curled against me, warm and heavy, like he belongs there.

The room is dim, curtains still drawn, the early morning light barely slipping through. I run my fingers through his hair, slow and careful, counting in my head.

Twenty-four… twenty-three… twenty-two… twenty-one… nineteen…

"Ugh. Shifty bastard," I breathe ...