“What happened?” he asked. “To your back.” “Oh,” I said, reaching for the sleep shorts I should’ve put on five minutes ago. “It’s from my bra.” I stared at the hand still tugging at his hair. His knuckles were white. “I’m dressed now. Sorry about that. I should’ve closed the doors.” “You should’ve had your own room,” he grumbled. “We’ll just have to blame the Derby for that.”
