Page 93 of The KING Review

His eyes flicker. “Of course, angel.”

The warmth in his eyes does something tectonic to me. All the air in my lungs rushes out, and my heart does a weird, offbeat stutter. “I like who I am with you,” I admit, voice barely audible. “I trust you. That’s why it works. That’s why it’s so good.”

He noses my hairline, just breathing me in, and I feel him smile against my temple. There’s nothing but us. No responsibilities, no exes, no rules except the ones we make together.

“Tell me if you need anything,” he says, voice soft but absolute. “Anything, ever. You’re safe with me. Always.”

“Same goes for you,” I whisper. “You don’t have to hide with me. Not ever.”

He groans, hugs me even tighter, and the sound is both quiet and earth-shattering. “My perfect girl.”

I hum. “Yours.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

World’s Least Evil Co-Parent

Neve

We stand there until the water loses heat, until the glass fogs and clears and fogs again. Eventually, Grant noses my cheek, peppering soft, lazy kisses. “Come on, angel. Let’s get you dry.”

I let him towel me off, and he wraps me in one of his big shirts. Grant tugs on sweatpants and another shirt. I run my hands up under his hem, mapping the shape of him, memorizing the plush and the muscle, the way his face flushes when I touch him.

He tries to glare, but he’s all soft edges and gentle hands. It makes my chest ache.

Eventually, we make it back to the kitchen. He’s still trailing kisses down my neck, shameless, big hands bracketing my hips as I whisk hollandaise like the fate of the universe depends on emulsification. The fate of the universe might not—but the fate of breakfast does.

“Do you always manhandle your sous chefs?” I tease, scraping the sauce into a little bowl.

He presses a lingering kiss to my pulse. “Only the ones who look this good in my shirt.”

I flush at how much he likes it when I wear his clothes, making a mental note to raid his closet later. I’d do it tonight, except I know today is changeover day, so I’m going to be relegated to not seeing him for two weeks because Sera will be here.

I don’t resent it, and I know it’s the way he has to do things until he can make sure our relationship is disclosed as per his custody agreement with his ex, but it’s going to suck not seeing him—especially now, after spending even just one night in his arms.

I’d like to do that for the rest of my life.

He reaches for the loaf of bread, slices it, then passes me a piece. I tear it in half, pop it in my mouth, and immediately pass the other half back to him. We eat like we’re recovering after a long siege, pausing only to kiss or to let him swipe a bit of sauce off my jaw.

I could get used to this. I want to get used to this.

But then there’s a knock at the door. It’s not loud, but it might as well be a pipe bomb in the center of the kitchen.

Grant freezes. Like, actual full-body, Jurassic Park T. rex freeze. I watch the color drain from his face—it’s fear’s close cousin. Braced, storm at the horizon, every nerve firing and not in a good way.

His hand finds my wrist.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible. His voice is all apology, but his expression is thunderclouds. “I think it’s her. She does this sometimes. When… when she thinks something’s up. She tries to ambush me.”

My stomach drops. “Your ex?”

His jaw works. “Marie.”

“It’s changeover day.” I press my hand to his chest. “Just breathe, baby. It’s all right.”

“She was supposed to meet me at the drop point later, but—” He chokes off, clapping his hand over mine on his chest. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. She’s bringing Sera here on purpose. God, I hate to ask, but I need you to hide. Please.”

I lean up and kiss him—the kind of kiss that says you’re not alone, not even when you think you are.