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I force myself to hold his gaze. “Guess you’ll just have to read it and find out.”

One corner of his mouth lifts.

It feels like we’re dangerously close to moving from bantering to flirting.

We’ve flirted before. We’ve teased and pushed each other’s buttons. Said things neither of us should have said and laughed them off before they could mean anything.

This doesn’t feel like that.

Maybe it’s because it’s after one in the morning. Maybe it’s because he’s been gone. Maybe it’s because I’m half asleep and he’s standing over me, tired, rumpled, and unfairly gorgeous.

Or maybe things aren’t quite the same between us anymore.

“Give me the book, Ken.”

His grin deepens, both dimples making an appearance now.

He hands it over. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I already told you to read it for yourself.”

Bishop drops onto the sectional beside me with a sigh.

I scoot the blanket off my lap and stand, revealing the fact that my pajama shorts barely qualify as clothing. His eyes follow the movement to my legs. Bishop swallows and looks back at me. “Christ, Laney. I thought we agreed on pants.”

I glance down at the plaid cotton. “I am wearing pants.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“I think the rest of them are missing.”

“They’re shorts.”

“That’s generous.”

My cheeks burn. “Stop looking at my legs.”

His eyes lift slowly to mine. “You’re the one not wearing pants.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

The answer comes too quickly. Too easily. And neither of us laughs. A tether pulls tight between us again.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? I’m feeling parched.”

Bishop blinks at the abrupt subject change. “What?”

“You played a game. Then flew halfway across the country. You have to be hungry.” I’m already moving toward the kitchen, flipping on the lamp. “There’s leftover chicken and dumplings, or I can make you a sandwich. I think there’s turkey. Or eggs. Do you eat eggs at one in the morning? That’s probably a stupid question. You eat everything.”

“Laney…”

“I can heat up–”

His hand closes around mine. “Delaney.”