“Morning, baby fawn.” His gruff greeting told me he hadn’t been awake long either. I wasn’t a morning person, so add what he said to me last night, and I found myself snapping. “Stop calling me that. My name is Braxton, but if you insist, can you at least drop ‘baby’?” “I’d rather drop Fawn,” he said as cool as a cucumber. Oh, hell no. I didn’t like my stomach’s positive reaction to that. “Fine. Whatever. It’s a fucking deal.”
