She realizes the position we’re in.
And she realizes exactly what I’m staring at—the neckline of hersweater, which has slipped just enough to be illegal in seventeen states.
Color floods her cheeks.
“Becker… focus on the screw,” she whispers, her voice rougher than before.
“I’m focusing on a lot of things,” I murmur. “And the screw is dead last on the list.”
She bites her lip, and the jolt that shoots straight to my groin nearly knocks me out.
And instead of moving away, she leans in even farther to reach a stubborn dowel.
Her chest grazes the inside of my thigh.
I swear I see stars.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I growl.
“I’m just… working,” she pants—but she doesn’t move an inch.
We finish assembling the mirror in a silence so charged it might as well be static electricity.
Every time our hands brush, it’s a spark.
Every time we pass a tool, our fingers linger a second too long.
We laugh when I mess up a joint and curse in three different languages.
She teases me about my complete lack of organizational skills; I mock her militant devotion to screw-sorting.
We’re a team.
A team that desperately wants to tear each other’s clothes off—but a team nonetheless.
I try not to think about what this kind of domestic synergy might look like… in real life.
Across the room, a loud crash makes everyone turn.
Daisy has attempted to “help” by using wood glue in a place it absolutely does not belong.
Silas’s vanity now resembles a sticky, crooked piece of modern art.
He drops to the floor, head in his hands.
“Why?” he asks the heavens. “Why?”
Daisy giggles nervously.
Right then, Pedro the myna bird swoops down from the rafters.
He ignores everyone else and lands squarely on Silas’s shoulder.
“Courage! Courage! Bonus!” the bird squawks, then gently pecks the vet’s ear.
Tina blasts her whistle through the megaphone.
“TIME OUT! Pedro has spoken! The Wild Card has been awarded! Twenty bonus points to Dr. Reed for patience and cross-species bonding!”
