Frankie’s halfway through pulling a thermal over her head, arms tangled and bare torso twisting as she tugs it on. I get a full view of smooth skin, a flash of red lace, and the kind of cleavage that doesn’t leave a man standing.
“Shit—sorry—wrong—” I stammer, already turning. “I didnt—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Her voice is flat. “Do you just wander around opening doors now? Is that a thing you do?”
“I didn’t know you were in here!”
“And knocking never occurred to you?”
“I was told third door on the right.”
She yanks the thermal down and glares at me. “This is the fourth.”
Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, or maybe from the accidental peep show, I don’t know. I can barely look at her, but can’t seem to look away either.
“Yeah. I figured that out when I walked into a live episode of softcore.”
Her mouth drops open. “You absolute—”
“Kidding!” I hold my hands up, suppressing a giggle. “I’m kidding. Jesus.”
“Funny. Were you also kidding when you ghosted me?”
Shit. Right to the kidneys.
I glance toward the hallway, then back to her. “Frankie, I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean to purposefully ignore me?” She lifts a brow. “Or didn’t mean to look so smug and hot after ghosting someone who was legitimately worried about you?”
My head jerks back.
Frankie’s eyes go wide. “That wasnota compliment. I take it back.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “You just called me hot again, Red. That’s gonna keep me warm for weeks.”
“Yeah, well, it’ll be the only thing keeping you warm.”
“Best thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I say, ignoring the barb. “Might get it printed on a T-shirt.”
She scoffs. “You’re fumbling so hard right now.”
“You’re the one who spilt wine on my junk!”
“Accidentally. But, you deserved it.”
“Probably,” I admit, because I absolutely did. “But it was pinot. That shit stains.”
“Buy better pants.”
We’re closer now. I’m not even sure how it happened, maybe during the back and forth banter, maybe I’m just gravitating.
Either way, I don’t realize how little space is left between us until the overhead light gives a sudden, sickly flicker.
Frankie glances up.
There’s another flicker, this one slower. Longer. The kind of dying pulse you get right before everything goes black.
And then—
