Target

Mason

“Son of a bitch,” I mumbled, shielding my eyes against the glare as I tried to open them in the morning. The brightness was not doing my headache any favors.

“Sleeping beauty wakes,” Benji said dryly from somewhere nearby.

I groaned and gingerly moved around to prop myself up on my elbows. I managed to open my eyes and looked blurrily around.

Benji was sitting on the opposite sofa. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together between them. “How’s your head?”

I forced myself to sit up. I made sure to move slowly in case I invited another bout of dizziness, but luckily, none came. “Better.”

“How much better?”

I rubbed my temples gently and leaned back against the couch cushions. “Like I got hit with a baseball bat instead of a crowbar sort of better.”

Benji snorted. “So about the same as last night?”

“No. Better than last night. Definitely.