Page 187

Not Clint anymore. HotnReddy.

A message pops up.

BigDog469: Morning show???

MouthyMike: Look who’s up early.

I smile and run a hand over my chest. Slow, because my body remembers the rhythm even when the rest of me is still catching up. The viewer count ticks higher.

Still no Bentley.

Good. Not good. Fine.

I look into the camera.

I almost close the laptop. Almost crawl back into bed and let the desire squat there until it becomes another thing I pretend doesn’t exist.

Instead, I hold the smile. It feels rough around the edges, but it almost works.

“Hey guys,” I say, voice low, almost a whisper. “HotnReddy here with another pop-up show.”

The chat starts moving. My hand slides lower.

“Let’s see what pops up.”

Chapter twenty-eight

Collision

Paul

Iwake on my side with the sun already pressing at the curtains, and for a second, I’m not alone. There’s heat at my back. Weight behind me. An arm over my ribs and breath at the base of my neck, soft and steady and sleep-warm.

I try to hold onto the moment, but the dream is gone before I can decide whose body it is.

Then the room returns. Cool air. No arm. No breath. No body but my own.

I lie there with the emptiness, letting it settle into all the familiar spaces.

But this morning, it doesn’t settle easily. This morning, I’m forty-three.

I roll onto my back and close my eyes.

Just a little longer before the texts start. Before Jessica calls. Before my mother sends happy birthday in all caps, with one extra y at the end because these phones have such tiny keyboards. Then Don will have to perform outrage about the missed show.

And after all of that, the day will finally ask me to be a person with a new date attached to him.

Last night comes back without permission.

Clint at the pool, grinning. The night air on my bare skin. The water breaking around us. His laughter in the soft light.

Silence begins to settle again, and then I hear him. A low murmur through the wall. A shape of sound more than words.

My eyes open.

Clint’s voice comes again, low and measured. Not how he usually sounds, but still familiar.

For one disorienting second, I think I’m still dreaming, that memory has found another way to make me sweat.