The side door opens again, and Coco strolls in, blotting her hands with a towel like she’s just finished an errand. She looks around the garage, taking in the scene—the divided piles, the rigid postures, the careful distance.
“Looks like a good haul, honey,” she says, stopping next to Bishop.
Bishop nods. “We’ll have a better idea of the final take in a few days.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.” She tips her head back and smiles. “You’re brother’s all patched up. And we’re having a party tomorrow night. To celebrate a job well done.” Her gaze lands on me and she holds it for a beat.
It’s not a request.
I nod once, the motion stiff, my neck muscles tight with the effort of appearing casual. Refusing would telegraph weakness, and in this room, that's blood in the water.
Coco turns back toward the house, already moving on.
And in the garage, the Calloway orbit tightens. Bishop's shoulders squaring, Gage's eyes tracking my every movement, the air between them charged like the moment before lightning strikes.
I realize, a little too late, that stepping into their gravity well might be the most dangerous thing I've done all night.
27
GAGE
One thingabout Ma is she can throw a fucking party.
Clusters of sweaty bodies clog the driveway, red cups sloshing, music thudding hard enough to vibrate the concrete. The backyard glows blue from the pool, bodies everywhere—drunk, loud, careless.
I plant my feet wider, scanning faces instead. I need a clear sightline when she arrives, and I don' t trust Bishop and his permanent scowl not to send her running before I get my chance.
Though Bellamy doesn't spook easily these days. Something in her eyes has hardened since we were kids, like she's seen enough shit to know exactly what she can handle. She never really has scared easily, I guess.
I pull out my phone, swipe to the glowing blue dot on the map. My thumbnail clicks against the edge of my case—once, twice, three times—as the screen refreshes. The dot blinks, settling two streets over near the liquor store. My mouth curves into a slow grin. She's close enough to taste.
I glance up to see Bellamy stroll up the driveway, her legs endless in frayed cutoff denim shorts. An oversized blacktee hangs off one sun-kissed shoulder, revealing a delicate collarbone and the thin strap of what I hope is a bikini underneath. Her hair falls in loose blonde waves that catch the glow of the string lights, and her lips curve into that half-smile that's always meant trouble.
Who fucking knew it'd be that vintage Fleetwood Mac shirt with its faded “Rumours” album cover that'd take me out at the knees, like I'm seventeen again, watching her climb through my bedroom window.
I step forward before anyone else can beat me to her, my boots scraping against the concrete, heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
“Hey,” I say, the word coming out rougher than I intended.
She smiles when she sees me. The kind that reaches her eyes and creates a tiny dimple in her left cheek. “Hey.”
“How'd it go today?” I study the way the string lights catch in her hair, turning strands to liquid gold.
“Smooth.” She shifts her weight to one hip. “He'll reach out in a couple weeks once everything's done.” Her gaze sharpens slightly, those hazel eyes narrowing. “I half-expected to run into you on the street again.”
“I thought about it.” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck where tension still sits like a vise. “But I was stuck on cleanup duty.”
She hums, satisfied, the sound vibrating in the small space between us. “Next time maybe.”
I arch a brow at her, but my grin won’t be contained. “Are you flirting with me, Bell?”
She tips her head back and laughs. The sound ripples through the humid air like a stone dropped in still water. I change my mind. It's not the worn-thin tee with its faded letters or those frayed cutoffs that barely cover the curve of her ass.
It'sthis.
The way her eyes crinkle at the corners, how her whole body seems to vibrate with the sound, how that dimple in her cheek deepens. It cuts me off at the knees and somehow makes my dick strain against my zipper at the same time.
“C'mon, let's go grab a drink.” I toss my arm around her shoulders and steer her toward the backyard, feeling the heat of her skin against mine. I'm not even subtle about it when I pull her into my side and steal a whiff of her hair, the silky strands brushing against my stubbled jaw.
