Jackson
I growled at the screen as I turned the pancakes in the pan. I was on the sixth episode of Bleed With Me, and I was cursing every single second of enjoyment I gained from the sordid show.
“Screw her for introducing me to this show,” I grumbled. “And screw King Westin for intentionally sending the prince on a wild goose chase. I swear to–”
“Good morning,” Imani greeted breezily as she entered the kitchen. I fumbled with my cell phone and nearly dropped it in pancake batter. I caught it before I faced an early-morning crisis and shut off the show before she could figure out what I was up to. “Are you okay?” she questioned as she approached the coffee maker.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I look better than you,” I teased lightly, smoothing down her curls that had tangled
