Page 60 of Captain's Claim

"Don't get used to it."

She leans her head against my shoulder, the gesture so natural it catches us both off guard. It’s instinctive, the way my muscles tense, the way my pulse picks up speed.

She’s warm against me, her hair spilling over my sleeve, the scent of vanilla and citrusy curling around me.

She smells like home.

Like something I could spend the rest of my damn life with.

"They want me to do an interview. With one of the kids from your program." Her words are starting to slur together. "I didn't want to, but Big Mike—"

I frown. “What?”

Sophia hums, her head still resting against my shoulder, her body slumping into me like the weight of the night is finally catching up to her.

“The interview,” she murmurs, voice soft and drowsy. “Tomorrow. They set it up at—” She hiccups, her whole body jolting with the force of it. "Oh, I can't remember where. Somewhere."

She steamrolls ahead, waving a lazy hand, leaving my brain spiraling.

“Point is, I have to be bright-eyed and… and… and whatever that thing with the tail is tomorrow.”

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?

I almost smirk, but the confusion outweighs the amusement.

An interview with one of the kids from my program?

Why the hell would Big Mike set that up? And more importantly—why wouldn’tIknow about it? I knew they were going after the program, to attract viewers and all that shit, but an interview? For what?!

My gut tightens, my brain firing on all cylinders, piecing together the edges of something that doesn’t quite fit.

But then Sophia shifts again, swaying precariously on the steps, her breath puffing against my arm. “Blake?”

“Yeah?”

She lifts her head, blinking up at me, her lashes heavy. “You’re very… sturdy.”

"And tall. Apparently. Come on, let's get you inside."

She grins, proud of herself for some reason, then lets out anotherloudhiccup before swaying so far sideways that I have to catch her. Again.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I mutter, hauling her to her feet.

“But—”

“Nope. Inside, Hart.”

She pouts, but she doesn’t fight me as I steer her toward the door, my mind still reeling over what she just said.

An interview with one of the youth kids. Tomorrow.

I don’t have time to process it.

Right now, my only focus is getting Sophia inside before she collapses on the damn front step.

I barely get my footing inside her apartment before she spins, pressing against me, hands flattening against my chest like she’s just remembered something vitally important to our survival.

"Wait," she says, voice low, hushed. "You could stay the night."

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