I clear my throat and try to recover. “Well… congrats. You’ve officially melted my brain.”
Dylan leans over, stage-whispering, “Welcome to Mistberry Cove. Hope you packed fireproof underwear.”
Jasper tips his beer toward me. “So I’m guessing you’ve listened to some of Slater’s narrated work, huh?”
My brain screams,All of it, and how many times I swooned over his narration, how many times I climaxed… but I keep my expression neutral, shrugging with what I hope is a verymehlevel of enthusiasm. “A few books. Here and there. Background noise while I do laundry.”
Slater’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, clearly not buying it. “Interesting.”
“Sure.” I sip my drink slowly. “Folding socks has never sounded so… dramatic.”
That earns a low chuckle from Mason. “You’re the first person I’ve ever heard downplay that voice.”
Dylan grins. “Seriously, you should see the emails Slater gets. Women begging him to read their grocery lists. Proposing marriage. One lady said she”—he coughs, barely holding in a laugh—“gets off just hearing him say the wordThursday.”
My cheeks flush, but I lift a brow and try to play it cool. “Well,Thursdayis a sexy day. Right between wild regret and questionable decisions.”
That gets all of them. Jasper chokes on his drink. Mason actually snorts. Dylan lets out a sharp “Damn” and slaps the table.
“I mean,” I say lightly, “his voice does what it’s supposed to do.”
Dylan’s grin turns feral. “Oh? And what’s that exactly?”
Jasper leans back in his chair, arms crossing slowly, eyes never leaving my face. “Careful. That sounded like praise.”
Mason’s gaze flicks to Slater, then back to me. “You’re not denying that you aren’t affected by his voice.”
I shrug again, pretending I’m not acutely aware of Slater watching me like he’s listening instead of looking. “Some people have voices that stick. Doesn’t mean anything.”
Slater finally speaks. “Stick how?”
There it is. Quiet. Curious. Dangerous.
My mouth opens before my brain approves. “Like you hear it once and it lives rent-free in your head.” I wince internally, then barrel forward. “Certain lines, especially.”
Dylan laughs. “Oh, this just got interesting.”
Jasper tilts his head. “Go on.”
I should stop. I absolutely should. Instead, I meet Slater’s eyes and quote, softly but clearly, “?‘Slow down. Let me feel you breathe first.’?”
The table goes dead silent.
Mason’s brows shoot up. “Holy shit.”
Dylan lets out a low, impressed whistle. “That wasn’t casual listening.”
Jasper’s mouth curves, slow and sharp. “You didn’t just remember that. You felt it.”
Slater doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. His gaze tracks the flush spreading across my chest. “Great memory.”
I lift my gaze, pulse thundering. “Hard to forget when it hits that deep.”
Dylan laughs outright. Mason mutters something under his breath that sounds like “Fuck.” Jasper leans forward now. “So tell me, Anita. When a voice gets under your skin like that… how hard is it to ignore?”
The heat between us tightens, coils, snaps.
I smile slowly. “Depends on who’s using it.”
