I yawned, sharing my bad breath him and embarrassing myself.
He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “You’re right, Chad,” he said.
“About what?” I whispered, confused by his unfinished statement.
“You snore.”
I cracked a smile, needing a cup of coffee.
Finn had other things on his mind, though. He reached over and grazed a palm against one of my pecs, leaned into me, and brought our lips together, which melted me in the morning dryness of autumn. When he pulled away, he said, “We’re a cliché. Do you know that?”
“What do you mean?” I honestly didn’t care about autumn, his works of art, or clichés. Rather, I wanted him to kiss me again, sealing our bodies together and fulfilling our morning desires.
He brushed fingers over my lips, a cheek, and the cords on my neck, starring into my
