The small click of the bathroom door opening woke Veronica from her deep sleep. Through her heavy lidded eyes she spied Logan, a dark blue towel tightly wrapped around his chiseled hip bones, as he made his way through the room to his dresser.
“Are there any children in our bed?” she mumbled from the middle of the mattress.
Logan glanced over their large bed, checking to see if someone had crawled in while he showered. It was not out of the ordinary to have all the kids pile in with them, first thing in the morning. But today they were miraculously kid-free.
“Nope,” he replied. “All clear.”
“Then, maybe you should drop that towel, Lieutenant,” Veronica said, her voice still thick with sleep.
“You know, the kids are up,” he replied, clutching the edge of his towel, flashing her a wicked sexy grin. “They’re just watching cartoons downstairs before breakfast.”
“I’m not trying to start anything,” she insisted, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. “I just like a bit of a show some mornings. Makes me remember all those times we would spend the entire day in bed.”
With a quick glance at the bedroom door, Logan quirked his eyebrow at her before letting his towel drop to the ground.
“Better?” he asked cheekily.
Veronica ran her eyes up and down his rippled physique, her pupils darkening as she thought about all the things she wished they could do alone, naked, together.
“Better,” she said with a big grin, raising herself up on one elbow.
This is Logan reminding you: If you’re offered a seat on a rocket ship,
don’t ask which seat, just get on. Sheryl Sandberg said that. So don’t
leave a message. Go get on that rocket ship. Or, leave a message. Your
call. Your decision will tell me a lot about you.
Tragedy blows through your life like a tornado, uprooting everything. Creating chaos. You wait for the dust to settle and then you choose. You can live in the wreckage and pretend it’s still the mansion you remember. Or you can crawl from the rubble and slowly rebuild.