He disappears and I finally roll over, grab a pillow, and press it over my face to muffle the sound I make that's half laugh, half scream, fully unhinged.
The shower starts and I hear it through the wall—water hitting tile, hitting him—and I need to stop thinking about this immediately. Cold water. Definitely cold water. Probably gripping the shower wall with one hand while the other—nope. Not thinking about it. Absolutely not picturing Holt under the spray, head tipped back, hand wrapped around—
I force myself out of bed before my brain can finish that thought, stumble to the kitchen in desperate need of coffee and a personality transplant.
I'm measuring grounds with shaking hands when Finn materializes in the doorway like he's been summoned by sexual frustration.
"Morning, sunshine," he says, entirely too cheerful for seven a.m.
"Why are you here."
"I live here."
"You have an Airstream."
"Yeah, but you guys have better coffee. And running water that doesn't taste like metal." He leans against the doorframe, studying me with eyes that miss exactly nothing. "Sleep well?"
My face ignites. "Fine. Normal. Why."
"Just asking." His grin is pure evil. "You look a little flustered."
"It's hot."
"It's seven in the morning."
"I run warm."
"Scout. You literally never stop talking." He's enjoying this far too much. "I've heard you narrate making coffee. Full running commentary."
"Maybe I'm sick. Maybe I have a fever. Maybe you should leave me alone to die in peace."
The shower shuts off. We both hear it.
"Interesting that Holt's showering this early," Finn observes. "He usually waits until after coffee."
"Maybe he also has a fever."
"Or maybe he needed a cold shower." His eyes sparkle with mischief. "You know. For reasons."
I throw the coffee scoop at him. He catches it, laughing.
Holt emerges in jeans and a gray t-shirt, hair still damp, and doesn't quite meet my eyes as he moves to the coffee pot.Our fingers brush when I hand him a mug and we both freeze like we've been electrocuted.
Finn makes a noise that's definitely not a cough.
"So," Finn says brightly. "What's the plan for today?"
"Work," Holt says.
"Existing," I add. "Breathing. Not dying of embarrassment. The usual."
"Great. Love the specificity." Finn pours himself coffee, still grinning like he knows all our secrets. "Guess we should head down then. Lots of cars. Lots of close quarters. Lots of opportunities for—"
"Finn," Holt warns.
"—teamwork! I was going to say teamwork, Jesus." He's already heading for the stairs. "You two coming or are you gonna stand there staring at each other all day?"
We're not staring. Except we absolutely are staring and when I finally tear my eyes away, my face is on fire.
