The next morning, I wake up on Victor’s couch. It was such a disastrous end to a great date, I think, rubbing my head and yawning. Archie jumps up on the couch, giving me enthusiastic morning kisses, and I pet his precious face, cooing goodmorning to him but trying not to let him lick me quite so much.
“I thought it was my dog,” Victor says, and I turn to see him leaning against the doorframe, smirking at me.
“It was supposed to be your dog,” I say, standing and wrapping the throw blanket around myself. “I can’t help it if I’m just more lovable than you. Poor pup couldn’t resist.”
Victor laughs and whistles for the dog, who trots over to say good morning too. Victor gives him some scratches on his bum and Archie prances happily.
“I’ve increased patrols on your house,” Victor says, str
