The car ride over is quiet, thick with all the things Dorian doesn't say. He keeps his eyes on the road, jaw tight, and hands steady. It's weirdly polite for a man who once hauled me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Just so we’re clear,” I say, not bothering to hide the grin tugging at my mouth, “if you're planning to manhandle me again, at least give me a heads-up. I'd wear less mascara and more body glitter next time. Make it a real show.”
Dorian doesn’t flinch. “I only carry flight risks.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
He smirks. “Not a chance.”
By the time we reach the lab, I’m almost grateful for the awkward tension. It’s easier than facing whatever’s waiting for me inside.
While we idle at the security checkpoint, my phone buzzes. Cami.
CAMI: I did something wild.
Me: Oh god. Do I need to bail you out?
CAMI:No. I accidentally slept with Mav.
CAMI:Or maybe it wasn’t an accident.
CAMI:Honestly, it’s all a blur of tequila and questionable decisions.
CAMI:Like… it was supposed to be a one-time thing, but I can’t stop thinking about it. This is bad, right?
ME:That depends. Was he good?
I can practically hear her giggling through the phone, the kind of snort-laugh that means she’s either mortified or dangerously proud. Probably both.
CAMI:Too good. Like criminally good. Your crime boyfriend teaches his men very illegal things.
ME:Ew. Stop. I hate that I know this.
CAMI:No, you love it.
CAMI:He left his gun holster on the whole time. Who does that??
ME:Cami!
CAMI:Don’t judge me, I’m spiraling. I wore heels to the grocery store just in case I ran into him. I haven’t grocery shopped for myself in months.
ME:Okay, that’s impressive thirst
CAMI:I’m a mess.
CAMI:Emotionally reckless and fueled entirely by iced coffee, bad decisions, and sexual tension—and the unsettling realization that he looks like the kind of man who enjoys watching me unravel.
CAMI:Anyway, I’m trying to play it cool, but I think I’m failing because I just offered to bake him cookies and called him 'champ' like a soccer mom.
ME:He probably thinks about you too, but his skull is too thick to admit it.
ME:Just mess with him. Make him suffer.
CAMI:Oh, I will. I’ve already bookmarked three spicy monologues from mob movies and practiced flipping my hair dramatically. I’m gonna make him regret this.
CAMI:Ominous things like, 'you’ll regret this, Maverick' and then disappear dramatically into the night.
I grin at the screen. At least one of us is getting laid without complications—and apparently plotting her ownHBOdrama in the process.
