SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL, J.HUGHES

TWENTY FOUR

MORGAN'S POV

it's way past midnight, and I'm doing the bedsheet tango, flipping and flopping like a fish out of water. Every time I peek at my phone, it's like a reminder of how much sleep I'm not getting. I swear, I've been staring at that clock like it's gonna magically grant me a few extra hours of shut-eye. Spoiler alert: it hasn't worked yet.

Normally, I'm the bedtime girly, you know? Silk pajamas, lavender candles, the whole ritual. But tonight? Let's just say I'm rocking the "hot mess chic" look. Mascara? Smudged. Hair? A frizzy disaster. It's a wonder I haven't scared myself in the mirror yet.

Tomorrow's a big day. I'm hitting the road, off to check up with some clients and do the whole boss routine. But instead of glamming up for a day of meetings, I'll be going through construction sites like a freaking detective, making sure everything's running smoother than ever.

And I don't even know why I'm struggling to fall as sleep, because I'm more tired than ever. Is hard to believe that yesterday, on a headbutt I called sam and decided to bring her with me to go watch the Rangers play in Philly. They were playing against the Flyers, and in the middle of the day I received a call from Aubrey asking me to join her in Philly for the game. I was so hyped, and I had to find a solution to attend the game, and Sam kindly accepted to come.

I had to go see Aubrey because I couldn't keep it bottled up anymore. I needed her to know everything that went down with Jack. Yeah, I'm talking about how I ended up in bed with him. I still can't believe I fell for his Phineas costume. How did I stumble into that mess?

So, let's rewind a bit. Picture this: Aubrey's giving me the side-eye for the entire first period, saying, "I don't believe you," like it's her new catchphrase. I'm there, swearing up and down, until I finally roll up my sleeve and reveal the freaking hickey on my shoulder. Like, seriously? As if hooking up wasn't enough, he had to leave his mark like some territorial mutt.

I didn't even notice until the next day, during that meeting with our contractor. Feeling all chic in my sleeveless top, about to command the room, when Sam shoots me this look, signaling for me to cover up. Turns out, Mr.Hughes left his calling card right there on my shoulder, like a neon sign screaming, "I had sex."

So there I am, basking in the warm glow of the candle he got me, feeling all sentimental and stuff. I snap a pic and send it his way, expecting some smile pic or at least a "you're welcome" in return. But what do I get? A measly thumbs up. Seriously? Is there anything more bone-dry than a thumbs-up response?

With an internal eye roll and a muttered grunt, I decide to take matters into my own hands. FaceTime it is, because let's face it, what else do I have better to do?

After what feels like an eternity of ringing, he finally picks up. And there he is, bathed in the soft glow of his reading light, looking like all casual. But hold up, is that glasses I see perched on his nose? Am I dreaming, or did he just pull an intello persona on me?

"Hey," he rasps out, like he's auditioning for some freaking gind of role in a romance movie. I flop onto my belly, trying to act casual while low-key scrutinizing his...new accessory.

"Nothing much, busy day. Just got back from Tampa, hit up the physio, and called it a day," he says, casually flexing his arm muscle like it's no big deal. Meanwhile, my heart is doing backflips like I'm on a trampoline.

Since when does he wears glasses? I casually inquire, trying to play it cool. He hums, slipping them off with a sheepish grin. "Well, you know, for reading," he confesses.

"For reading? What kind of books are you diving into, Jack?" I tease, trying to hide the fact that I'm low-key intrigued. Okay, maybe not low-key. Definitely intrigued.