I lobbied for the latest in blackout shade technology when we bought the house, extolling the glories of triggering a tomb-like darkness with the touch of a button. But Beau read some bio-hack-health-whatever article about how waking up with the sun triggers some chemical in your brain that supposedly makes you happier.
I would be happier if I were still asleep.
He moves toward me and cups a hand above my face to shield me from the sun. “Better?”
Peeking out from under my pillow, I narrow my eyes. “You get points for trying.” The handsome shadows of morning stubble around his lips soften my voice. “What time did you get home? You didn’t wake me up when you came in.”
The way he hesitates before answering tells me what I already suspect—he got back so late there was no hope of rousing me.
“Who fucking knows?” He rubs at his eyes with his freehand. “Someone brought out a pack of Fireball shots, and things get fuzzy from there. I’m supposed to play golf with Ford and Shep over at the Ritz this morning.”
I give him a long skeptical look, like he might still be high from last night. But no, his gaze is sharp—he’s sober.
“I’m surprised Ford wants to come down from Mount Olympus to play with the likes of you guys.” I laugh.
“Shep gave a very enthusiastic pitch last night about his new Callaway irons. He swears they’re changing his game,” Beau says, as if this justifies it.
“Bleck.” I shake my head. “He’s always so quiet. But I don’t get the impression he’s shy. He just expects everyone else to carry the conversation for him. I don’t like it.”
“Could be fun.” He grins. Everything sounds like fun to Beau. He’s always game.
“Or you and Ford could spend literal hours in direct sunlight trying to wrench a sentence out of Shep about his golf gear.”
“¿Por qué no los dos?” Beau winks. Then he pulls me under him, hovering over me as he kisses my neck. “You want to come? I’ll let you drive the golf cart.”
“Oh. Hard pass.” I giggle, feigning an attempt to escape his grip.
“Well, joke’s on them. I’ve been recording data on my golf game for months now—swing velocity, club head speed, torque, and humidity levels.”
“You are a stone-cold nerd.” I kiss him, remembering he mentioned something about this golf-data quest over dinner a few weeks ago, but I thought he was kidding.
Ever since we stopped working, Beau has redirected all that ambition into hobbies—each one a new puzzle to solve.
Beau arches an eyebrow. “Keep laughing. We’ll see who the nerd is when I fleece each of them for a hundred dollars after eighteen holes.”
“Now who’s gambling away our fortune?” I move to sit up, but he catches me at the waist.
“Hey.” His lips brush over the top of my neck as he murmurs in my ear. “I missed you last night.”
“Aren’t you running on, like, four hours of sleep?” I say, but I don’t move away as the whisper of his breath skims my neck and makes my stomach do a funny little twist.
This is heaven. We burned down our old lives for this. And it was worth it.
At least, I thought we did. But the outreach from the 310 number last night—and that shadow of someone outside the windows of Lemon & Fig—feels like the embers we’d smothered might be sparking back to life.
Beau smirks, then his fingers slip beneath the hem of his old T-shirt—the one I slept in—and push it up, slow and deliberate. I lift my arms, and in one smooth motion, it’s gone, tossed somewhere onto the floor. His bare chest is warm against mine, his hands skim my back, pulling me closer.
“How was the rest of the party?” I sigh as my body starts to respond to his touch.
“Who cares?” He laughs into the crook of my neck, his breath on my skin raising goose bumps along my spine.
His pupils are dark and dilated. The desire I sense in them matches the slow swell of heat pooling in my chest. Then, he kisses me deeply, and I taste the mint of his mouthwash on his tongue.
“I mean, if you’re going to stay out all night, we are absolutely revisiting the blackout curtain discussion.”
I’m teasing, but he doesn’t respond. He’s already moving lower, his mouth skimming my collarbone, then my ribs, then my stomach. The feeling sends my thoughts scattering, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything except the way he’s touchingme.
He’s very good at this part.
