She glances over, smiles, then returns her attention to the road. We don’t need to fill the silence with words. The radio plays something low and jazzy. Outside, the city slides past—billboards, overpasses, the sprawl of LA waking up.
By the time we take our exit, traffic has thickened considerably—the morning rush building toward its peak. Nina navigates the surface streets, her fingers laced with mine on the gear shift.
The building comes into view on Wilshire—three stories of red brick with large windows. Marcella’s dance studio occupies the ground floor front, but the windows remain dark. Too early for classes. Nina pulls around to the alley in back where Mason’s auto body shop sits.
The garage bays stand open. Both brothers work inside—Mason bent over an engine, Maddox holding something up to the light, examining it. In the corner, Zoey plays in her playpen, surrounded by foam mats and toys that look wildly out of place among the tools and car parts.
Nina parks near the bay entrance and cuts the engine. For a moment we just sit there, her fingers still laced with mine.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For not making my confession weird last night. Both of you.”
“It wasn’t weird. It was brave.” I squeeze her hand. “And Chris stayed. The whole night. Only left because Tatiana called.”
“He seemed different,” she agrees. “Present. Like he actually wants this to work.”
“Maybe he does.” I try not to sound too hopeful, but it leaks through anyway. “Maybe we all do.”
Her expression shifts with that particular glint that means Nina’s about to say something direct.
She turns to face me properly. “We should probably stock up on lube before my procedure tomorrow. Tonight’s the last night I can actually participate for a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“At least a week. No sex, no orgasms.” She makes a face. “Doctor’s orders. But you two don’t have to stop just because I’m benched.”
“That seems...” I search for the right word. “Unfair.”
She laughs. “What, you’re going to take a vow of celibacy in solidarity?”
“Maybe we only do things when you’re there to watch.”
“God, that’s worse. Watching you two go at it while I can’t even touch myself?” She shakes her head. “That’s just cruel.”
I squeeze her hand. “But seriously, the recovery period. What do you need?”
“Distraction. Lots of distraction. Movies, books, maybe some of that fancy chocolate from the place on Melrose.”
“I can do chocolate runs.”
“And maybe you two can save the really good stuff for when I’m cleared.” She gives me a sly look. “Though this morning’s creativity suggests you might discover new things while I’m out of commission.”
“We’ll try to take notes.”
“Detailed ones,” she agrees. “With diagrams.”
I lean over, kiss her once more. “We will. Drive safe. Text me when your session’s done?”
“I will.” She touches my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I grab my jacket from the backseat and step out onto the sidewalk. Nina waits until I’m halfway across the garage entrance before pulling away.
Mason straightens from the engine he’s working on, takes in my rumpled clothes—the same ones from yesterday, grass stains and all. His eyebrows lift slightly.
