I wake slowly, feeling warm and fuzzy-headed and safe. It’s funny, because normally, I have to be yanked out of sleep by the harsh braying of my alarm clock just to make sure that I can get to work on time. But a quick glance to my left confirms that it’s only eight o’clock, and I’ve got time. So I curl tighter into a ball before stopping because my pillow feels harder than usual.

The thought makes me stop and actually wakes me up, because I’m not in my bed. I’m on my couch underneath one of my throw blankets, the clock I saw was my microwave, and I’m curling up to a hard body . . . the very hard body of Shane.

His breathing is even and slow, still asleep, so I take stock. He’s lying half reclined on one end, his boots hanging off my couch and his muscular left arm lying across the back of the couch in a protective position, like he wanted to hold me but didn’t. Meanwhile, I’ve got my cheek pressed against one nearly iron-hard but delightfully warm pectoral and my left leg’s half draped over his like the world’s biggest body pillow. It feels . . . good. Safe.

I hum softly, and Shane stretches slightly in his sleep, his muscled arm descending slowly to lie on top of the blanket, almost instinctively cupping my butt.

I have a momentary freakout as my body thrills and fully wakes up in a lot more ways than just shaking off the last cobwebs of sleep. Did we? No, no. We’re both fully dressed, and I’d definitely remember that. I have no doubt that having sex with Shane would be something a girl would never forget. Considering I’ve had a few fantasies about him over the past two months . . . yeah, I wouldn’t forget it.

At that thought, my core fills with warmth, making me squirm slightly. The leg I have thrown over his lifts, and I feel the hard fullness of his dick. Sweet mama’s fairy tales, he’s . . . I don’t think I could even fantasize about someone this amazingly put together.

Shane moans lightly in his sleep from my pressure, pulling me to him and grinding against me ever so slightly, and I gasp as electricity shoots through me. Unfortunately, the sound seems to wake him and he stirs beneath me. He rubs my butt, pressing into me again as he stretches and groans. The sound alone turns me on, and I bite my lip, lifting my head to look at his face.

Shane blinks and smiles sleepily back at me before I get a close-up view of the second his face goes from smiling ‘good morning, sweetheart’ to frowning ‘oh, shit.’

Sigh. I never should’ve even pretended he’d be happy to wake up here with me, even if we didn’t do anything. I mean, I’m just a nerdy girl next door, and he’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny. He’s the sort of guy who has girls like Allie and the other dancers drooling over him.

It’s only because Shane’s so nice, and that I basically begged him to stay like a little girl last night, that he’s here. But I was truly scared after the parking lot incident.

I can feel the blush rushing across my cheeks, and I do my best to try and smooth all this over before I die of embarrassment. “G’morning. Guess we fell asleep?”

Smooth one there, Maggie. State the dang obvious, why don’t ya?

Shane smiles back softly, though, lifting an eyebrow. “Guess so.” Suddenly, he notices his hand on my ass and maybe the feeling of his morning wood against my thigh, and his smile disappears in an instant. “Oh, uh . . . sorry.”

He lifts his hand off my butt, and I lift up, trying to disentangle myself from our compromising position before my heart fails. “Thanks for staying last night. I was pretty freaked out after everything. Think that guy will stay away?”

Shane’s face hardens, and it’s reassuring to see absolutely no doubt in his eyes. “He’ll stay away, or he’ll wish he had. But you’re safe, okay?”

I dip my chin, feeling silly that he’s still reassuring me, and deciding I need to act a bit more blasé about the whole thing, put it in my past and move forward. I’m supposed to be a tough girl, not a scaredy cat.

Decision made, I stand and straighten my back, rolling my shoulders back to look as tall as I can, which isn’t much considering my petite five-foot-nothing self. “Let me put on a fresh pot of coffee—”

Shane interrupts, straightening up himself. “Thanks, but I’d better get going. Need to get my truck before tonight’s shift starts.”

A tough ball of disappointment forms in my gut, but I plaster a fake smile on my face anyway. I mean, I was pathetic enough to almost beg him to stay last night. I shouldn’t keep the streak going. “Sure, of course. Want me to give you a ride back to the club?”

“No, thanks, I’ll grab a cab. I’m sure you’ve got plans today,” Shane says, getting up. I do have plans. I mean, I have to go to my other job, but he doesn’t know that. And there’s something about the way he says it that sounds like a dismissal, not like he’s fishing for me to hang out with him.

“Yeah, busy.” He folds the blanket and lays it on the arm of the couch, and something about that strikes me as so domestic, so tame considering he’s a wild beast of man who didn’t hesitate to put the beat-down on that guy last night.

The contrast makes me feel dizzy, or maybe that’s just him and how he makes me feel inside. I walk him to door, one hand on the doorknob as I turn and look at him again. “Thanks for last night.”

Shit, that sounds like I mean something else, something decidedly more vulgar, and I can feel the blush warming my cheeks. Even Shane smiles a little, and I quickly try to get myself out of this quicksand I’ve stuck myself in. “I mean with the guy at the club. And bringing me home.”

I know I look like a total fool, and Shane seems amused by my awkwardness. He gives me a little grin that leaves my heart hammering even more in my chest and chuckles. “You’re welcome. Just doing my job. Well, mostly,” he says with a pointed look at the couch. “But I’m glad I was here.”

I think he’s trying to make me blush more, and to be honest, he’s succeeding. “Uh . . . me too.”

Shane clears his throat, and I have a half-second to wonder if he’s serious that he liked being here. “I’ll see you tonight?”

I nod, thinking that I wouldn’t miss a shift at Petals for the world right now. “Yeah, I’m working dinner to close tonight, so I’ll see you later.”

There’s a moment where it seems neither of us knows what to do, so I finally lean in for a hug.

I mean, heck. I slept draped over the guy like he was a body pillow last night. A hug doesn’t seem all that intimate, right? And we’re colleagues, work buddies even. And work buddies will sometimes give each other a hug.

Except when I reach up and wrap my arms around him and press my chest toward his, all I can think about is how good he feels. My breasts tingle as they smoosh against his hard chest muscles, and my body feels every bit of his hand splayed on my back. I can almost read the way his fingers adjust their pressures, his thumb pressing against one of my ‘dimples’ for a moment before his fingers take over, alternating like he’s playing a piano before he pulls me tighter and his musky-manly scent fills my senses. I have to bite back the moan in my throat.

“You be good,” Shane says with a tantalizing ghost of huskiness in his voice that makes me think maybe he liked the hug as much as me. With one last full, white smile and a little two-finger wave, he steps out. “And take it easy.”

As soon as he’s gone, I melt back to the couch, a wistful sigh mixing with the floomp of my cushions as I flop.

“Damn, that man is hot with a capital Oh, yeah!” I sigh, knowing that he’s also incredibly off-limits, for so many reasons. First, there’s my waitress job where the no fraternizing rule is strictly enforced.

Second, there’s the fact that I’m undercover for the tabloid and he doesn’t even know my real name. He thinks I’m Meghan, not Maggie. Major buzzkill to be mid-flagrante delicto and for him to cry out your name, except it’s not yours but rather the alias you gave him.

I won’t even touch on the third reason, considering that contemplating how out of my league he is won’t do my self-esteem any favors. I know I’m a catch, and I’m picky because I can be, but Shane is in a whole other dimension of gorgeousness.

Shaking my head, I rally and grab a cup of last night’s coffee, nuking it in the microwave and dropping in three sugars and a lot of milk, just the way I like. The caffeine and sugar are just what I need to get dressed and into the office for my check-in and assignment update.

Yeah, big plans, that’s me. Get off work and go to work. If I’m lucky, I might be able to squeeze in a workout at the gym to try and keep up my girlish figure.

Living the dream, baby.

* * *

The big open ‘bullpen’ of The Daily Spot is humming when I get in. Of course it is. A lot of my coworkers have been here for a couple of hours already, trying to make the noon update deadline. We may be a gossip rag, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a schedule. Seven in the morning for the pre-work and water cooler crowd, noon to catch the lunch-timers, and then at six to give everyone a late-night update.

As soon as I log into the computer, my instant messenger box opens in the corner of the screen. It’s my new boss, Jeanine. Hi, Maggie! Come to my office ASAP.

Shoot, wonder what she wants. She’s definitely better than my old boss, who was a skeevy jerk. Actually, he was worse than that, but he went out in a blaze of glory . . . publicly. The Daily Spot’s reputation took a hit, but at the same time, website traffic is up. I guess it’s true—controversy creates cash.

Jeanine’s been here a little over a month now, but I don’t have a good read on her yet. She always seems serious and cold, and she communicates in snippets of sentences rather than in full, embellished diatribes. I’d bet money she’s never so much as cracked the spine of a book of poetry. No time for that prosaic nonsense.

So a tabloid full of gossipy blurbs is probably right up her alley. Actually, I read her biography when she took the editor’s job, and she’s worked in some legit journalism too, but still, the woman communicates by the five Ws—who, what, when, where, and why—almost exclusively. She doesn’t even bother with how. That’s my job, I guess.

I don’t waste her time by responding to the message. I just lock my computer and head her way as quickly as possible. Knocking on her doorframe, Jeanine doesn’t even look away from her computer, although she does wave me in with a quick little flutter of her fingers.

Ah, well. I sit in one of the chairs, waiting for her to finish whatever she’s working on and speak first.

Jeanine hits her Enter key with a flourish that’s sure to break her keyboard before too much longer and looks up, giving me a professional smile. “Maggie, how are things? What have you got for me?”

I swallow, knowing she won’t like my answer. “Honestly, not a lot right now. There hasn’t been even a pseudo-celeb in the club in over a week. I wrote that one up for last Saturday’s edition, remember? The headline was Bad Boy of Soaps Gets Glitter Bombed.”

Jeanine is silent, but she nods so I think she at least remembers the story. I’ll admit, it wasn’t that big of a story. I mean, sure, the guy’s made a few housewives fan themselves, but ever since he came over from New Zealand, he’s been getting himself in so much trouble the biggest story is whether the INS is going to let him renew his work visa.

Jeanine’s grey eyes narrow at me as she purses her blood-red lips, her expression making her look even harsher than usual. “Glitter. Oh, yes.”

She says it with a sneer, like the sparkly confetti is unwelcome contagious merriment. But that’s what it was, if you count getting smacked in the face with a dancer’s glitter-covered hiney a ‘bomb.’ But he’s single, not dating anyone, and most fans don’t really mind if a guy like that gets up to no good.

With a shake of the head, she continues. “I’ve received word that a certain All-Star basketball player will be clubbing sans the missus at a rather high-end venue tonight. I need you to go in, look the part, and see if he’s up to anything devious. If so, get pics and write up his delinquency. If he’s being a good boy, take pics of the sketchiest thing you see and write it up as supposition for why he’s out alone. Trouble in paradise type story. Got it?”

I fidget and tug at the sleeve of my blouse. “I’d love to, but I’m already working tonight. I can probably get someone to cover the later part of my shift and catch up with him after the liquor kicks in though. He’d be more likely to behave badly then, anyway.”

I’ve agreed, but only partially, and Jeanine definitely catches the difference. Her face goes hard, a mask of iron determination. “Maggie, my dear. Are you a waitress or are you a reporter? Because it sounds as though you’re turning down a sure-bet reporting assignment to sling beer to drool-mouthed drunks. If you’d rather wait tables, by all means, feel free to do so. However, if you’d like to be a reporter, I’ll need you at Club Noir all night in case Jimmy Keys shows up.”

The threat is obvious, and while I only took the waitressing job as a means to get sordid stories, it is a big part of my life now. I have friends who work there, and the money is great. Dominick is tough, but he’s a good boss, and I won’t lose the waitressing job for calling out on one shift.

But missing this assignment from Jeanine will definitely cost me the reporting gig, so with a sigh of resolve, I plaster a saccharine-sweet smile on my face. “Of course, I want to be a reporter, Jeanine,” I reply, while inwardly wondering if working for this gossip rag can really be called reporting. “I’ll get my shift covered so I can be at the club well before the target arrives and will have a story submitted by tomorrow.”

Jeanine doesn’t compliment me, just smiles shrewdly, knowing her intimidation worked and I’m solidly ensconced in my place once again. ‘My place,’ of course is at least one notch lower than her, as everyone in the office has quickly learned that Jeanine carries her job with a superiority like a cape that swishes along behind her like a pissed off queen. And everyone knows that in her right hand is her scepter, which she’ll beat over your head if you push her far enough.

She doesn’t even bother answering as she turns back to her computer, just waving me off as her attention goes back to whatever it is that she’s focusing on now that her favorite little petite social wallflower knows what to do.

Summarily dismissed, I head out to my desk, digging my phone out of my purse. I think and text one of the other girls at the club. She’s a dancer, but considering she’s new and nowhere near as good as Allie, her paychecks could use the help.

Hey, Sarah, can you cover my shift tonight, please? Last-minute thing came up.

She replies quickly, happy to cover.

Sure! I’d love a bonus Friday shift.

Thanks! I owe you one. Anytime you need me.

With a sigh, I set my phone back down and get to work, scanning Instagram accounts for celeb news, checking Twitter feeds for vague posts, and although Jeanine would never admit it, searching other tabloid sites for their stories to see if we can do a story better justice. Twice, that’s hit for me, being able to read between the lines and get a juicy tidbit that someone else left behind.

It’s a hard knock life for me.