Page 112 of The Exit Strategy

22

CENTER OF GRAVITY

COLE

I peel open my eyes,already knowing it’s somewhere close to six a.m.

My body’s been keeping this appointment for a decade and doesn’t care that the rest of my life shifted on its axis last night. My new center of gravity is currently asleep on my chest, with her hair in her mouth and one leg hooked over mine, breathing slowly against my sternum.

It’s making it unreasonably difficult to stay still.

Juniper Mercer.

In my bed.

Drooling on me.

Awake, my little Viper has her claws deployed, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

In sleep, she’s at peace, calm, gentle in a way I’ve rarely ever seen.

So I fight to remain still.

The ceiling fan above us turns a slow quarter-revolution while a gull complains over the dunes. The light behind the blinds is still the gray kind that hasn’t committed to being morning. I used to hate this hour—the one that makesthoughts in my mind scream into the silence of my life—but today, I can’t muster up the energy to hate, well, anything.

It’s a strange sensation to get what you’ve always wanted and yet still want more.

For today though, this is good enough.

It’s a step in the right direction.

It’s also what motivates me like nothing before to put an end to the shackles of my past because I can finally envision the future, and now I’ll do anything to have it.

Good enough will never be good enough for Junie.

I love you, Junie. I’m just terrified of what loving me will cost you.

Those words should’ve remained in my head, but the events that led to them make me weak. I’d whispered them into her hair, needing her to know them, but I was unprepared for the fallout.

Junie’s breathing didn’t change with my admission, which means she either didn’t hear me or she did and decided mercy was the cheaper option at one in the morning. I don’t even know which fucking option I’m praying for.

Both have teeth.

She shifts in her sleep, muttering something unintelligible, and I grin—her sour disposition makes everything in my life feel lighter. Even in sleep, Junie finds something to complain about.

The leg hooked over mine tightens.

Her hand is fisted in the sheet that rests over my naked torso, and she pulls as though she’s worried I’ll go somewhere.

I won’t. And as soon as I fix this shit with everyone else in our lives, I’ll make sure she knows it.

I ease the strand of hair out of her mouth. She makes thesmall, annoyed sound of a woman who protests in her sleep on principle and burrows closer.

“Stop. Moving,” she says into my chest. Her eyes are still closed.

“I didn’t.” Not really. Ensuring she doesn’t end up with a hairball seems like the gentlemanly thing to do, even if what I did to her last night would be considered anything but gentlemanly.

My cock stirs to life, so I redirect my attention.