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Don’s tone gentles. “Sorry.”

“It was overdue. She finally realized what an asshole I am.” I give them a back-and-forth look. “You guys have been there, right?”

Don smirks and doesn’t look insulted at all. More like he appreciates the hit.

Paul is watching me too closely. I make myself look at him.

“My work got in the way. That’s all.”

Paul coughs. It comes out of nowhere. He turns toward the kitchen, grabs a water bottle off the counter, then seems to realize it might be mine.

“It’s clean,” I say.

That makes the coughing fit worse. He twists the cap too fast, and water spills over his fingers.

Don and I both watch him malfunction.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” Paul says too quickly.

Don says, “No.”

Paul shoots him a look.

I almost laugh.

The room has gotten weird—well, weirder—and I can feel the crack under my own performance now. My skin is cooling. The towel is damp. My heart is still beating too fast from walking in and seeing Paul here.

“Speaking of work, I need to get to it.”

Paul chokes on the water. Don’s eyes, maybe with delight.

I point toward the hallway with my thumb. “I’m gonna shower. Give you some space to coordinate with your team or whatever.”

Don exhales loudly. “Thank you, Clint.”

Paul lowers the bottle. “We should discuss this.”

“We should.”

“I mean seriously.”

“We will,” I say, heading for the hall. I point back at him. “Take care of that drinking problem.”

Don makes a strangled sound.

Every step away from them feels like a test. Before I reach the bedroom, I turn back.

Paul is still standing near the kitchen with the water bottle in one hand. Don is beside the couch, giant granny hat clutched to his chest, watching us both like he’s accidentally wandered into the middle of a play.

“All my stuff’s still gonna be here when I come out, right?”

Paul’s expression flickers. “Yes.”

Don gives me a thumbs-up. “I’ll guard your trunks.”

I point at him. “I catch you wearing them, you owe me dinner.”