She's holding a pink donut box against her hip, her slender fingers splayed across the cardboard, casual as breathing. My gaze drags over her like I've been wandering a desert for weeks—from her wind-tangled hair down to her scuffed Vans, drinking in every detail I'd forgotten to remember.
Lola stands beside her, one brow raised in that signature skeptical arch, and Beckett’s holding a grocery bag by its twistedhandles, the plastic stretched thin around what must be a half-dozen cans that clink against each other when he shifts his weight from one boot to the other.
My feet move before my brain catches up, but Cruz is already there, lifting the donut box from her grip with a practiced ease that makes my jaw clench.
Cruz lifts the box lid with one finger, his mouth curving into that slow half-smile that makes women forget their names. “What do we have here?” His voice drops half an octave, smooth as aged whiskey.
Bellamy’s fingertips tap the cardboard edge of the box. “Our pre-job ritual. Donuts the night before a job.”
Beckett lifts the grocery bag between two fingers. “And canned caffeine as insurance. We’ve got espresso, lattes, energy drinks. And whatever that caffeine water is that Lola swears by.” His top lip lifts like he has a few choice words to say about his sister’s drink.
Lola rolls her eyes, snatching the bag. “Don’t knock it till you try it. Triple berry flavor gets me through the day.”
Cruz’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “Wow. Sounds like you’ve got a lot to live for.”
“Just for that, no caffeine for you,” Lola fires back, clutching the bag to her chest.
Cruz laughs, and I finally cut across the space toward Bellamy. Her eyes lift to meet mine, and the garage suddenly feels ten degrees warmer. My pulse skips, stumbles, then races ahead like I've just sprinted up six flights of stairs. The corner of her mouth twitches upward—barely there, gone in a blink—but it's enough to make my chest tighten like I've taken a direct hit.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I know. Ready for this?” She lifts her brows, tilting her head to the side a little.
“Always. Which donut is yours?” I ask, trying to sound casual instead of starving.
She shrugs. “I’ll eat any of them.”
“Then which one should I eat?”
Her hand dips into the box, hovering past the maple bar and twist before selecting something that looks like a pink coconut explosion. When she transfers it to my waiting palm, her fingertips graze my skin, leaving a trail of heat that has nothing to do with the sugar.
“This one,” she says, smiling just enough to fucking level me. “It’s perfect for you.”
I huff a laugh, low in my chest, and take a bite. Strawberries and cream explode across my tongue, and while I’m tasting sugar, my brain skips straight to the memory of how she used to taste.
How easily she used to melt under my mouth.
How easily she might again.
A hum rumbles out of me before I can stop it.
“Good?” Her cheeks flush a soft pink.
My voice comes out low and rough, like gravel under tires. “Delicious.” The word hangs between us, too heavy for a garage full of people just feet away. Someone laughs—Cruz, probably—but the sound seems distant, underwater.
“You missed a spot.” She gestures at my bottom lip.
I drag my thumb across the corner she indicated. The cream is cool against my skin as I hold her gaze for one heartbeat, two, before bringing my thumb to my lips. The sweetness hits my tongue, and I watch her pupils dilate just slightly as I slowly pull my thumb away, leaving nothing behind.
Her breath catches, and I feel it. I fuckingfeelit. In my teeth, in my bones, in places I’ve spent years trying to forget existed.
“Is this a social club, or are we planning a fucking job?” Bishop drawls, voice pitched loud.
The moment shatters, and Bellamy pulls back just enough to refocus, though her lashes are still low and her cheeks still flushed.
Lola snorts and takes a bite of her donut, talking around it. “Someone’s in a good mood tonight.”
Bellamy leans toward me just slightly and mutters, “I don’t remember him being this…”
