I lean forward between the seats.
Gage’s chin comes up. A beat passes before he says anything. “Thanks, man.” His eyes cut to the road. “Let’s not tell him though.”
“What about Coco? You still planning to cut her in?”
I stay where I am.
Gage slides Cruz a look—the kind that takes a second to land. “I was thinking we keep this between the three of us.”
Cruz shrugs, thumb moving once across his mouth. “Yeah, whatever, man. I won’t say anything.”
Gage finds my eyes in the rearview. Holds them. “That good with you, Bell?”
I sit back. “Good for me.”
Neither of them says anything after that. Cruz goes back to the window. Gage’s hand shifts on the wheel.
I watch the back of their heads and say nothing.
I sit back and watch the road unspool ahead of us. Something’s off between them—not wrong, exactly, but not right either. I can’t tell if I’m reading it correctly or if I’m just tired and still half-wired from the job.
Or maybe it was all the orgasms.
Fuck. How many orgasms are too many?
And more importantly, how soon can I run experiments on this hypothesized question?
TWENTY-FIVE
RAFE
I spother before I even make it fully inside. She’s at one of the small tables by the window, a latte in her hand, sunlight catching in her hair just enough to make her look softer than she actually is.
Underneath the blonde hair and brown-eyed coastal girl exterior, she’s a tempest trapped in a calm sea.
But all these assholes don’t get to see her like that. But I do.
She’s got her legs crossed, one foot moving slightly, like she’s keeping time with something only she can hear. I wonder what’s playing through that pretty head of hers.
I’m in front of her table in three strides. “Hey, baby.”
She glances up, and there’s a half-second where she tenses, but as soon as she sees me, her shoulders relax. “Rafe.”
The way she says my name has my dick already perking up. I ignore it and pull out the chair across from her.
“I didn’t know you came here,” she says, the straw of her latte perched on her lips.
“I don’t.”
Her mouth curves, slow and knowing. “So what are you doing here?”
I hold her gaze. “You’re here.”
She toys with her straw before taking a sip. “You keeping tabs on me?” Something flickers in her expression—amusement, maybe. Something softer underneath it.
I arch a brow. I definitely am.
My brother isn’t the only one who knows how to use a tracker. But I didn’t place something on her car, I installed a background app on her phone, so I can always find her.
