MY PILLOW WAS as hard as a rock.

It was also hot to the touch, and I couldn't flip it over to get the cold side.

In fact, I had a feeling that it didn't have a cold side. I had a feeling that both sides were hot and hard, so very, very hot and hard.

Because my pillow was a man. And if my fuzzy memory was any help, he wasn't just any man.

He was August Fletcher.

Which meant–oh shit.

A weird strangled noise flew from my lips as I rolled over, away from my makeshift pillow in the shape of the NFL's biggest star. The same one who held my career in the palm of his hands.

His very large, capable hands which had just swooped in around my waist, hoisting me back into the bed.

I cried out in protest, hoping that some of the noises leaving my mouth were words, but I couldn't be sure. To my own ears, I sounded garbled and water-logged. And it felt like something was growing on my tongue.

"Relax, Castle." August's rough voice had an odd, soothing effect, and my body immediately did as he commanded. "You were about to fall off the goddamn bed and straight into your puke bucket."

Puke bucket?

Oh my God.

No wonder my mouth tasted like shit.

His hand vanished a moment later after I'd been deposited next to him again. I looked up at his handsome face through blurry vision, and reality came crashing down as the sun blinded me, streaming in through the windows.

"I'm in your bed," I breathed.

"You're in my bed," he agreed.

Even though I had said it, and he had said it, my brain was still struggling to put the pieces together.

"You said you had more than one bed," I said.

I didn't remember everything from last night, but I sure as hell remembered that.

"I do have more than one bed," he said, nodding. Those smokey eyes studied me, shining with slight amusement as I slid the covers higher over my body. Maybe if I could just disappear, we could forget that this happened.

"And, what, you just didn't want to get the sheets dirty on the other one?"

His eyes rolled up. "You needed supervising."

"Look, I know I'm younger than you, but I'm not a child."

He leaned back against the headboard, assessing me. "I'm well aware you're not a child. But you were a very drunk twenty-six-year-old last night."

I stared at him. "How do you know my age?"

He shrugged. "I'll bet you know mine."

"It's my job to know things about you, Fletcher."

His birthday was in October. He didn't like celebrating it. And this year, he'd be turning thirty-seven.

"That sounds like a boring job," August said dryly. Then he folded two broad, muscled arms across his chest. His bare chest. God, he was tan. All bronze and shimmering. My eyes followed the trail of muscles down to where a blanket covered his waist, and oh my God–

My eyes darted back to his face. "Please tell me you're wearing pants."

He lifted a brow without responding. His expression said...why don't you find out?

But I'd been baited by this man all last night to say and do things I likely shouldn't have. And while I took full responsibility for drinking too much and playing his little pool game for far too long, I refused to continue making poor decisions.

"I'm wearing pants," August sighed, giving in. He threw the blanket off his lap, and I realized that not only was he wearing sweatpants, but he was also sitting on top of the covers that I was beneath on the bed. His blanket had been completely separate. "You will find that you, also, are wearing pants."

I wiggled my legs beneath the covers and knew he was telling the truth. By the feel of it, I was wearing the same pair of worn jeans as yesterday, and man, was I suddenly feeling uncomfortable and trapped in them.

"You didn't think to tell the drunk girl to change into her pajamas?"

"I figured suggesting that the drunk girl take off her clothes would be considered ungentlemanly."

The expression he gave me was stoic and serious, and I couldn't help but laugh outright at it. "Okay, Fletcher. I appreciate you protecting my honor. But if we ever find ourselves in this situation again–"

"God, I hope not."

"—I'm giving you consent right now to make me put on some comfortable clothes."

"Noted, but there's no way I'm gonna let you get that drunk again," he grunted before pushing off the bed, standing.

Damn, I forgot how tall he was. And just...big. Average men did not fill up a room like that.

I kicked my covers off with a yawn, feeling surprisingly well-rested. My head definitely felt a bit foggy and heavy, like it was filled with all the sand from the beach. But beyond that, I couldn't complain. Likely because I'd already emptied my stomach of everything I ate and drank yesterday. Emphasis on drank.

August rounded the bed, keeping his eyes on his feet. "I put your bags by the bathroom." He pointed to the side of the room without lifting his head. "Feel free to freshen up. You know, take your pants off. I'll be making breakfast."

Without another word–or even glance–my way, he was gone.

I blew a breath from my lips and looked around the room for the first time.

Simply put, it was beautiful. Decorated in hues of navy and white with natural wood trim lining the floors and doorways, it had an earthy, beachy feel. I wondered if August had hired an interior decorator. I couldn't imagine him at a store, picking out throw pillows to compliment his bedspread. And yet, everything matched perfectly.

When I walked into the bathroom, I gasped.

If the bedroom was nice, the bathroom was marvelous.

All the cabinetry was done in that same natural wood, giving the room warmth. Then the black casing of the shower and the hardware used throughout took that warmth and turned it up a notch. The lighting was moody as I flicked the switch by the door, and sensuality oozed from the space. The musky smell of man filled my senses.

Using August's bathroom suddenly felt way more intimate than sleeping in his bed.

Trying to put all those thoughts out of my mind, I hurried to freshen up as August had so lovingly put it. And, to his credit, I did look like a mess. Embarrassment burned brighter within me, but I pushed it down as I strode out of his room in a simple white sundress.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of August's house was equally as stunning. He must have had it built or remodeled recently because everything was on trend.

It was a bit odd because August was the type of person who tended to go against the mold. But I couldn't blame him for wanting to have a nice house. He'd certainly worked hard for it over the years.

"Here," he grunted, pushing forward a plate piled with eggs, bacon, and toast. "I've gotta make sure you eat today."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "I don't usually forget, you know. It was just a busy day of travel, and when I finally found you, I didn't want to waste any time."

August didn't say anything in response, but his lips dipped further into a frown.

Great.

"Thank you, by the way." My voice sounded hoarse, so I cleared it before continuing. "For letting me stay last night and making sure I didn't choke on my own vomit. And breakfast looks great."

"Considering the entire Warriors organization likely knows you're here, it would not have ended well for me if you choked on your own vomit. Everyone would know exactly where to look when you didn't return to New York."

"Once again, your hospitality is appreciated."

I said it teasingly, matching his tone. But I meant it.

To say that August Fletcher was antisocial was an understatement. I was more than aware that he likely hated having guests. I knew he didn't enjoy interviews. And even though he never agreed to let anyone interview him but me, I'd still expected him to shut me out, walk away, and leave me high and dry when he saw me in his hometown bar.

So while it was clear he wasn't exactly happy that a Warriors reporter sat across from him at his kitchen countertop, he hadn't kicked me out yet.

And that, honestly, was a miracle.

His heavy sigh interrupted my thoughts.

"Let's get this over with."

I raised a brow while biting into a strip of crispy bacon.

He wanted to...talk?

"No more games this morning, Fletcher? You're not going to make me beat you in darts or something this time?"

"I don't think you could beat me in darts." He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the rest of the bacon sizzling in the pan. Thankfully he'd put on a shirt, making it a little bit easier for me to think straight. But then he looked up at me, eyes piercing mine, and my thoughts started running in circles again. "So what do you want to know, Castle?"

I sat up straighter. Was he really going to make it that easy for me?

"Why did you retire so abruptly?"

He pursed his lips. "Next question."

"That's a pretty big question to skip."

"Maybe I don't want to answer it."

I shrugged. "I can't make you."

But I also wouldn't be leaving until I learned something about it.

"What else do you want to know?"

"Well..." I shifted nervously in my chair. "I'm here to experience your life in retirement."

"Experience it?" he repeated, mulling the words over.

"I want to know...well, everything. What you're doing with your newfound freedom, if you have any other pursuits, if you've developed new business ventures or hobbies."

"There's not much to tell."

"Everyone thought you might say that. Which is why I'm here to see for myself."

"Meaning..."

"Meaning I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, Fletcher." I sipped the orange juice he put in front of me. It tasted fresh. "But I'll find another place to stay and get out of your hair–"

"That seems contradictory," he said, cutting off my impersonation of his words from last night. I remembered just enough of our car ride home to recall him saying that. "For you to find somewhere else to stay when you're supposed to...experience my life."

He said the last words like he thought they were ridiculous. He made a little scoffing sound in the back of his throat, which I chose to ignore.

"Look, I'm not trying to be a nuisance. I'm just trying to do my job."

"You'll stay here," he said with a note of finality. "In the guest room, of course. And I'll help you do your job."

I stared at him. On one hand, staying here would blur our professional boundaries even more. And I needed to keep those intact.  But on the other hand, living with August would give me the most unfiltered access to his life for my piece.

I couldn't pass that up.

"Excellent." I smiled, hoping I might coax one out of him too. I'd caught a glimpse of one a few times last night, so I knew it was possible. "What's first on the agenda of a day in the life of August Fletcher?"

He cocked his head to the side, considering me.

"What?" I wiped at my mouth, hoping I didn't have something on my face. Considering the state he saw me in last night, I didn't need to make a fool of myself again.

But then August asked a question I definitely hadn't been expecting.

"Did you pack a swimsuit?"

☀️

a/n:

Quinn: I really gotta to be more professional here
August: sooo bikini?

thanks for reading!!
xoxo amelie