Lenny's Pov I got up and went to the kitchen. He was already at the counter with his phone in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes across his bare shoulders. Even with the nasty bruise blooming along his cheekbone, he looked unfairly good, like danger wrapped in quiet confidence. He looked up when I came in, his sapphire eyes softening just a fraction the way they only did for me. "How long have you been up?" I asked, voice still husky from sleep. "A while." He took a slow sip from his mug, watching me over the rim. "Anything new?" "Manageable," he said, which I had learned was code for yes, but I’m not telling you the specifics because I still think I can protect you from everything. I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter across from him, letting the warmth seep into my palms. "Your cheekbone is bad." "I’ve seen it." "It’s very purple. Like, eggplant-purple. You look
Read more