The next morning, I woke to Hunter's arm draped possessively over my waist, his breath warm against my neck. For a moment, I let myself drift in that hazy space between sleep and waking, content to just exist in this bubble with him.

Until I remembered.

My mother's arrest. The interview. The press.

The story would be out by now. We would see if Quinn was right about the reporter.

I carefully extracted myself from Hunter's embrace, sliding out of bed. He stirred but didn't wake, his face ...