8
Amber
Winters in Tucson aren't cold, but they're still chilly. Usually, my mate Garrett is the one riding around on his bike in nothing but jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather vest, while I bundle up like I’m about to go skiing. But today, I’m outside on the patio in nothing but yoga pants and a light sweater.
A soft whisper is my only warning that the screen door is opening behind me. For such a huge guy, my boyfriend moves as quietly as a cat. Not that I’d ever vocally compare him to a cat. Not unless we were in a fight, and I was really, really mad.
“Hey babe,” Garrett’s voice rumbles a second before he nuzzles my neck. “Aren't you cold?”
My lips curve, and I reach back to pull him close. He seats himself beside me, propping his boots on the concrete table and plucking my book off my
