Hostile Takeover (of My Heart)
he muttered, confused.
I propped myself up on one elbow, grinning like a fox. “You’re a very detailed dream, you know that? The abs? The dripping water? The towel barely hanging on for dear life? 10 out of 10. Would fantasize again.”
His mouth dropped open. Then slowly... he smiled. Smirked, actually.
Oh no.
Smirking dream men meant one thing: I was about to say something humiliating.
“I bet your voice is deep, too,” I added, voice slurring just a little as I blinked lazily at him. “Do you talk in this dream, or do we just skip to the scandalous part?”
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