Page 92 of Kentrell

I chuckled to myself, a low rumble that made my chest vibrate under her cheek.

That was enough to get her to stir.

She let out a little hum, lifted her head, eyes barely open. Then she blinked, focused in on my face—and smiled.

A slow, sleepy, sweet-ass smile.

Until—

Brrt. Brrt. Brrt.

Her eyes darted toward the nightstand, and when she caught the time, I saw the exact moment panic slapped her.

“Shit!” she gasped, sitting up fast and clutching the sheet to her chest.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, still laid back, one arm behind my head.

“I overslept!” she breathed. “I didn’t call in—I didn’t text—I didn’tsay anything!”

She scrambled across the bed, reaching for her phone like the damn thing had personally betrayed her.

I just watched her, amused.

She was still fine as hell, even in a full-blown freak-out.

And she ain’t even realize...

I wasn’t goin’ nowhere.

Not yet.

Zoe was damn near tripping over herself—fumbling with her phone, pulling the sheet tighter around her body like modesty suddenly mattered after the way she screamed my name last night.

I stayed laid back, propped on one elbow, watching her like TV.

No rush.

No panic.

Just her.

Still beautiful. Still mine.

She was mid-rant, mumbling something about HR policies and being marked tardy when she finallystopped.

Turned.

And looked at me.

Confused.

“You real calm for somebody who just let me oversleep.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because I handled it.”

She blinked. “Handled what?”

“I already called in for you,” I said, stretching with one hand behind my head.

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