Her mind almost forgot, convincing itself that all those hours previous were a dream, but her body remembers – muscles a little stiff, joints popping despite their youth, spine wanting to stretch.
And she isn't alone.
Which is not a new thing, her bed being the landing pad for many drunken fumbles and used-to-be boyfriends and forgetful experiences.
But, this time, she truly is not alone.
Not just underneath this comforter and upon these sheets, but in all the ways that songs sing about and Hallmark cards write about…
…Spencer Carlin is asleep, curled up like a kitten, right beside Ashley Davies.
Fingers flex first and then the eyes open wider and she notes the sensation of heat all along her body, warmth that bounces between their bare skin in lulling waves.
And there is an arm abour her waist, which is something new and unexpected.
But her own arm is curled about Spencer's back, holding fast – begging in slumber for what she can't ever say when awake – and that is much newer and more unexpected.
She'll break it. She'll fuck it up. She'll run a mile because she's been given an inch.
But, right now, nakedness still present and sunlight coasting frightfully slow over Spencer's pretty face… right now, the two of them twined around each other like vines… right now, with a heart that beats too hard with too much emotion…
…Right now, Ashley decides to stay in bed for a while longer.