Callan’s POV
I roll over, my eyes screwing up as light hits my face, penetrating my eyelids. Groaning, I throw up my arm, placing it over my face to block out the obnoxious rays that seem intent on terrorising me even with my eyes closed.
My head is pounding, and I feel gross, like I’ve been swimming in a bog or something. My skin is itchy and as I scrape my hand down my face there is a vaguely familiar scent that I definitely like.
Beside me my phone starts to blare out a rock song, and I wince as I reach out blindly toward the beside table, trying to find the offending device.
As my fingers curl around the cell phone, I pull it toward me and squint at the screen just long enough to slide the accept call button across.
‘Lo?’ I grumble in annoyance.
‘Cal? It’s Blake.’ The glazier’s v
