The cough should’ve alarmed me.
Cross was never sick, and I hadn’t coughed. But it didn’t. It only woke me. I was too sleepy to process it all the way. I opened one eye to find Cross sleeping, his face turned toward me. He was half-curled in a ball, his head missing the pillow. His long eyelashes… I reached out to trace my hand down his face.
I’d always thought it, but it was only reinforced now: he had so much potential. He was smart. He was handsome. He was funny. He could follow, but he was a leader. He was my leader. I looked down over his strong jawline to the muscles that moved up and down with such ease as he breathed. He was a specimen, a perfect and masterful specimen.
He was mine. That’s what he was.
“Are you done ogling Cross, Bren?”
Both Cross and I reacted at the same tim
