Page 58 of Life After You

She groans again, pushing up onto her elbows, and damn. Even half-asleep, hair a tangled mess, eyes barely open—she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She doesn’t notice me staring, too busy glaring at the door. “Clay, if you don’t leave in the next three seconds, I’m coming for your head.”

Silence. Then footsteps retreating down the hall.

Mac flops back onto the pillows, eyes closed, a triumphant little smirk on her lips.

I grin. “Ah, angel. Never change.”

She rolls her eyes but laughs, and for a second, I forget about the tour. The band. The uncertainties hanging over us like a storm cloud. Do we have to play nice and socialize or can we just be?

I don’t ever want to leave.

But if we don’t get up soon, the guys are gonna eat all the food, and I’d rather not have to wrestle Sam for the last piece of bacon.

I nudge her shoulder. “C’mon, angel, get up.”

She groans into the pillow. “No.”

“There’s food.”

“I don’t care.”

I smirk. “Clay said he’d eat your share.”

Nothing.

I narrow my eyes. “Okay, fine. You leave me no choice.”

Her body goes still. Like she knows me well enough to realize I’m about to do something stupid.

“Logan,” she warns, voice muffled against the pillow.

I grin. “Last chance, sweetheart.”

Nothing.

So, I strike.

Fingers at her ribs. Digging mercilessly into her sides, her stomach—where I know she’s most ticklish.

She screams.

"Logan, NO—”

She twists, laughing, trying to escape, but I don’t stop. My hands move to the backs of her knees, absolute hell for her, and she loses it, thrashing like a wild animal.

"You asshole! Stop—oh my God—” a couple of her mad flails have her feet rocketing towards my face, but I manage to move out the way, just.

She gasps between uncontrollable laughter, kicking out, flailing—until she gets too close to the edge of the bed.

And then—

THUMP.

She’s on the floor. A heap of tangled limbs, messy hair, and a betrayed expression.

I lose it.

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