"He's a cop now," Brooks mutters, already pulling his shirt back over his head. "Loves patrolling my favorite spots. Pretty sure he does it just to mess with me."
I shove my arms through the sleeves of my shirt, laughing under my breath as I climb into the passenger seat. "He always was weirdly obsessed with you."
Brooks rolls down the window as the police cruiser slows to a stop beside us.
"Isn't it past your curfew, Mercer?" Russ grins, leaning on the frame of his window.
"Didn't realize I had one," Brooks shoots back.
Russ tilts his head toward me. "And how's your lady friend doing?"
I lean over, resting my elbow on Brooks' arm to make sure Russ gets a clear view of my face. "Hi, Russ."
His eyebrows shoot up. "Ellie? What the hell? I thought you moved to Los Angeles."
"I'm visiting," I say vaguely. "Just for a little while."
Russ glances back at Brooks, and the gears in his brain clearly turn. "Wait,you'rethe new lady friend?"
I wrinkle my nose. "Hardly. Just one of his many, I'm sure."
Brooks scoffs, but doesn't argue. I kind of love that he doesn't argue.
Russ chuckles. "Well, word of warning. If I catch either of you in a compromising position, I'll have no choice but to write you up for indecent exposure."
I grin sweetly. "Duly noted."
He eyes Brooks. "I'm watching you. No funny business."
As he rolls away, Brooks slumps against the seat and exhales dramatically. "That man is an absolute mood killer."
I chuckle, breathless. "We should probably head home."
Brooks doesn't budge. Instead, he leans across the seat and kisses me again—slow, lazy, like he knows exactly what he's doing. I should stop him. I know that. But when his lips touch mine, I forget every reason why I shouldn't.
I sigh against him, letting myself fall back into his lap, the ache between my thighs flaring the second his hands land on my hips. My whole body hums with need so loud it drowns out my thoughts but, somewhere inside me, a voice whispers caution. He said he loved me.Stillloves me. And I don't even know what I'm doing.
Whatever this is, it’s smudging every line I drew to keep myself safe
"We should—" I try, half-heartedly.
"No," Brooks protests, low and rough, as his fingers slip beneath my shirt and skim the bare skin of my waist. "Five more minutes."
And so, I cave. Again.
I melt into him, my chest pressed to his like it belongs there. Like it always has. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't. All I know is, when his hands trace the curve of my back, I don't want to move.
Still, I manage to breathe out, "I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I'm going back to LA eventually."
Brooks pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his fingers threading through my hair. "I'm not."
I search his face, trying to decide if I believe him. If Icanbelieve him. There's still so much we haven't said. So much I'm not ready to admit.
But for now, I take him at his word and let him kiss me again.
And again.
And then I let him take my shirt off.
