LANA
I woke to the smell of bacon and a playlist that sounded suspiciously like southern charm in audio form. Something twangy but smooth. Masculine. Unapologetically confident.
I pulled the covers over my head and groaned. Maybe if I ignored it long enough, the man I caught jacking off in the living room yesterday would disappear into a puff of embarrassment.
But no. That would be too easy.
I climbed out of bed, tugged on a hoodie, and padded barefoot down the hall.
And there he was. Again. Shirtless. Again.
Rhett stood at the stove like some kind of small-town romance novel fever dream, flipping bacon with one hand and sipping from a mug in the other. His sandy blond hair was messy, tattoos peeking, and a lazy, cocky smile just waiting to happen.
He looked over his shoulder. “Morn
