“Stop it,” I wheeze.
“No way,” he beams. “I’m gonna book that race first thing this evening. Maybe neon pink. We’ll workshop fonts.”
I have to walk over to the railing and hang onto it like I’m riding out an exorcism, because the bubbling happiness in my chest is threatening to turn me into a balloon.
This must be it. Happy sex, feeling accepted and wanted, and fresh air. My brain has gone soft. I turned into an airhead.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him between breaths. “And what is this—like—a system? Racing for clothes? Did you also race for these socks or what?”
He leans in, glances down at my ankles where the skulls peek just slightly above the black sneakers from my ICU room.
“Nah,” he says. “Those were Nathaniel’s doing. Man’s got a theme. Overall, we, uh…” He gestures vaguely in a circle. “Wanted you to feel welcomed. You know. As a unit. If you woke up.When. I never doubted you, of course.”
“Of course,” I narrow my eyes, deadpan.
He doubted me so hard he had an outburst later.
But that’s fine.
I suppose I’d have an outburst too if the girl I—whatever-this-is-with—turned into a near-corpse.
Still—
There’s something about the idea of them working together that hooks a claw under my ribs.
Because the last time we sat down to discuss “teamwork,” the subject was group sex logistics, and none of us were particularly happy about it.
Talon had been jealous. Cassian had wanted to kill him. Nathaniel was pushing it all away, trying to focus on the problem at hand.
So how did they just come to a conclusion to prepare a room for me?Together?
I want to know.
“How did that happen, by the way?” I ask, glancing toward the hospital doors.
We’ve been out for a while already. The guys are probably waiting, but something tells me things are going to get serious again when we go back in—and I don’t really want that.
This… me and Talon right now… it’s easy.
Surprisingly, comfortably easy.
He scratches the back of his head, expression turning more serious. “It wasn’t exactly planned. Cassian was pacing like a caged tiger, Nathaniel was doing his creepy quiet-thinking thing,and I…” He pauses, glancing at me from under his lashes. “I couldn’t stop worrying.”
I tilt my head. “About what?”
“You know,” he says.
“Maybe. I want to hear you say it.”
His gaze sharpens. Something in it flashes back to the alley wall, to his breath hot against my ear when he told me he’d tear the world apart for me.
“You make me want to take you back to that alley again, Little Grim,” he says.
My pulse stutters.
I arch a brow, aiming for casual. “And here I was wondering if you could repeat the things you say during sexwithoutthe blood already pounding in your ears.”
He takes a step forward.
