Easy.
That word presses in, unwelcome and dangerous.
This would be easy, and easy things shatter when the weight of reality hits them. I know better than this.
I push myself upright before I can sink back into that feeling. Pain shoots through my shoulder, white-hot and electric, stealing my breath. The room wobbles, and I brace one hand against the headboard.
“Fuck,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes shut.
Gage stirs beside me, sheets rustling. “Bell?” His voice scrapes low, graveled with sleep. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
His eyes find mine in the half-light as he pushes up onto one elbow, hair mussed on one side. “You look… like you’re hurting.”
“Wow,” I reach over, shoving his arm. “Your bedside manner is incredible. Besides, have you looked in a mirror lately?”
He huffs a laugh and flops onto his back, arms spread wide. “Are you telling me I’m not pretty anymore?” His grin catches the gray light. “Stay. We’ll order those red velvet cupcakes from that place on Seventh. Watch terrible action movies all day.”
I brush the hair from his forehead, my fingertips lingering against his warm skin. “I wish. We’ve got a job to finish.”
His chest rises and falls with a deep exhale, eyes fluttering closed. “Damn. I forgot about that. Another time then.”
My fingers find their way into his hair, twisting a lock between them as I drag my nails lightly against his scalp. “What, you want another sleepover at your mom’s house?”
A small groan escapes his lips. “She’s barely here.”
“Still.” The pad of my thumb traces the shell of his ear. “Next time shouldn’t be here.”
His eyes snap open, the corners crinkling as his mouth curves into that familiar half-smile. “Are you makin’ a pass at me, Bell?”
I tug gently on his hair, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. “And if I am?”
In one fluid motion, his arm hooks around my waist, pulling me against him as he shifts his weight. His breath warms my neck, lips brushing just below my ear, trailing down the slope of my throat. “Goddamn, Bell, why do you always smell so good?”
I tilt my head back, exposing more skin. “I literally used your shower gel, remember?”
“Nah.” His mouth hovers over the juncture where my neck meets my shoulder—my hurt shoulder—before pressing a featherlight kiss there. His lips trace a path along my collarbone, each touch softer than the last. “That’s not it.”
The bedroom door rattles with three sharp blows.
“Get up,” Bishop’s voice cuts through the wood.
Gage’s lips freeze against my collarbone. He lifts his head, jaw tightening. “Fuck off.”
“Morning meeting, five minutes.” Bishop’s footsteps fade down the hallway, each one measured and deliberate.
Gage’s forehead drops to my sternum with a sigh that warms my skin. “Are you sure we can’t ditch the day and stay in here instead?” His thumb traces small circles at my hip.
“Mm-hmm.” I tap his shoulder. “Don’t you want to figure out who hit us yesterday?”
He lifts his head, blue-green eyes catching mine. The corners crinkle, that easy smile sliding back into place, but something flickers behind it—something cold and sharp that doesn’t match the curve of his mouth.
“Yeah, Bell.” His voice drops half an octave. “And god help them when we do.”
I hold his gaze while my fingertips drift along his jaw, feeling the muscle there flex and release.
Ten minutes later, Gage and I stroll into Coco’s kitchen side by side. Sunlight spills in through the windows along the wall, catching dust in the air and glinting off the polished marble countertops. The room smells of coffee and something citrusy—cleaning spray, maybe.
