“Park benches are underrated. Free accommodation, fresh air, suspicious stains that build character...”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time.” Heat crept up Jamie’s neck as he tried not to think about passing out in the guy’s car on a regular basis.
Sloane set his plate aside, turning slightly to face him more fully. The movement was unhurried, but something shifted in the air between them. “No?”
Every smart answer died on Jamie’s tongue. The question landed soft but direct, no games, no pretense. Just Sloane watching him with those stupidly attractive eyes, waiting.
“I...” Jamie’s voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat. “I don’t usually wake up in strange beds. It’s not really my thing.”
“Noted.” Sloane’s expression didn’t change, patient as stone. “What is your thing?”
Apparently developing feelings for dangerous-looking men who bring me breakfast. Jamie set his own plate down, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “Disaster, mostly. I’ve got a real talent for it.”
“You seemed pretty together last night.”
“Before or after I face-planted into your car?”
“Both.” No hesitation. Sloane leaned back slightly, weight on one hand, casual but alert. Like he could wait all day for Jamie to sort through whatever was happening in his head.
Jamie’s laugh came out shaky. “You’re really bad for my ego, you know that? I’m trying to maintain my disaster reputation here. But I guess I’m not the only one concerned about egos.”
Sloane’s eyebrow arched. “You saying I have an ego problem?”
“I’m saying anyone who claims they built the damn table probably needs a bigger room for it.”
“Fair point.” Sloane’s mouth curved. “Though I notice you’re still sitting at it.”
Jamie’s breath caught. The air between them shifted, growing heavier, charged with something that made his skin prickle. Sloane hadn’t moved closer, but suddenly the space felt smaller, like gravity had rearranged itself.
Heat licked at the edges of reason, dragging Jamie under. “Maybe I like the view.”
“Just the view?” The question landed soft but weighted.
Jamie’s plate trembled slightly in his hands. He set it aside, pulse racing. “Depends. What else is on offer?”
Instead of answering, Sloane leaned in. Not fast, not sudden. Just a steady closing of distance that gave Jamie every chance to pull back, to laugh it off, to remember why kissing virtual strangers was a terrible idea.
He didn’t move.
Sloane’s hand found Jamie’s jaw, thumb brushing along skin with unexpected gentleness. The touch sparked through his system, making him forget every sensible thought he’d ever had.
The kiss hit him like a shock of pure electricity. Sloane kissed like he did everything else. Confident, thorough, with just enough edge to make Jamie’s head spin. His tongue traced Jamie’s lower lip, and he opened for him without thinking, hands fisting in Sloane’s shirt to anchor himself.
Heat pooled low in his belly as Sloane’s teeth caught his lip, just enough pressure to make him gasp. The sound seemed to unlock something in Sloane, his grip tightening, deepening the kiss until Jamie couldn’t remember his own name.
Holy hell, the man could kiss. Like he’d gotten an advanced degree in it. Like he’d studied Jamie’s specific weaknesses and decided to exploit every single one.
When they finally broke apart, Jamie’s lungs burned. He blinked, trying to restart his brain while Sloane watched him with eyes gone dark.
“So…” Jamie cleared his throat, proud when his voice only shook a little. “That’s... quite the breakfast special.”
His thumb traced Jamie’s jaw once more before he pulled back. “Should I apologize?”
“Only if you’re actually sorry.”
“I’m not.”
