Chapter 1: Wrinkled Sheets
"John."
The voice was tender, and it came from far away.
"John."
He groaned. His eyes opened slowly, heavy, and found the ceiling first. Then Cassie. Cassandra Connors, pale hair almost white against the dim light, black eyes watching him from the pillow beside his. The sheets were wrapped around both of them, wrinkled and warm.
John was shirtless, dirty blond, his muscular frame a sharp contrast to Cassie's graceful one. His brown eyes drifted past her to the small shelf by the bed. They were in her apartment. On top of the shelf sat a pack of cigarettes.
He tried to sit up. His body fought him, and he groaned with every attempt before finally settling on the edge of the bed, sighing.
"How long was I out?"
Cassie chuckled. "Less than an hour, Jonathan Claude."
"Don't call me that."
"It's your name." She leaned close as he turned to her. "Your mother picked it. I'm just using it."
He reached for the shelf. Her fingers closed gently over his right hand and stopped it.
"Section four of the Connors Code," she said. "No smoking in the bed of a woman who just saved your life."
"You've never saved my life."
"Tuesday. The fire escape."
"I was fine on Tuesday."
"You were hanging by one hand and making a speech." She smiled. "I'm still here, John. And we have work to do. The city doesn't stop because you're tired."
"Cassie..." He sighed her name like surrender.
She leaned closer until her forehead pressed against his. They breathed each other in. He could feel the warmth of her, the quiet rush of it. Her hand slid to the back of his neck and her fingers moved slowly through his hair.
They kissed, slow and unhurried.
Then the room dimmed, the way a memory dims, and the light faded out.
