Scar stood with his good shoulder leaning into the corner, posture rigid, radiating frustration.
Gage stood close enough to feel the heat coming off him, close enough to hear the way Scar’s breathing wasn’t quite normal yet.
Scar shifted, as if preparing to step out the moment the doors opened. “I’ll see you at the ass-crack of dawn. Try to get some sleep, okay?”
It sounded like a decision made to save face, not a real desire to be alone.
Gage crowded him until Scar’s back was pressed against the elevator wall.
“Stay with me,” he said, not asking.
“Gage…”
He tipped his head, voice lower, softer, “Let me kiss it and make it better.”
For a second, Scar didn’t move.
“You’re not supposed to say shit like that, Saint.”
“Mm, are you saying no?”
Scar was silent until the elevator doors opened, then muttered, “Okay.”
He navigated through his space easily, with Scar following.
“Bathroom’s to the left,” Gage said. “Towels and toiletries are on the second shelf.”
Scar hummed in acknowledgment, and Gage waited for the door to click shut.
He changed into sleep pants and a soft shirt, then laid a tank top and a pair of cotton lounge shorts on the bed for Scar.
In his kitchen, he let out a long exhale, curling his fingertips around the edge of the counter as if it could keep him from freaking out.
He was still wired from the field, full of that wild, protective energy. But underneath, something more intense was rising, and it scared him how much he wanted to do something about it.
He put together a small fruit-and-cheese plate since he and Scar had missed the chance to have dinner and set it on the nightstand.
The shower shut off, and a moment later, Scar stepped out.
The heat of the shower and the scent of his own soap came out behind him, filling the room in a way that made Gage’s stomach tighten.
He pointed at where he’d put the plate and forced his voice to stay even. “Are you hungry?”
Scar paused. “A little, I guess. Are these shorts for me?”
“Um, yeah if—” He tipped his head toward the sound of water droplets hitting his hardwood floor, before his eyes widened. “Are you naked?”
Scar’s silence was all the answer he needed.
Lord help me.
His breath hitched, and his heart began to hammer so fast he thought he’d hyperventilate.
He was remembering their last time alone, how he’d explored Scar’s body, tracing lines of muscle, hard ridges, and sharp edges formed by hard living.
His fingers twitched at his side with an urge to reach and confirm what his imagination was painting so vividly.
“I sleep naked. I don’t like restrictions.”
