Page 225 of Rising Heat

“I think he’ll come around,” Mack says, looking between us.

I bury my face in his chest, pulling them both closer.

I’m back home where I belong. The rest can wait.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

mack

Boston in July traps heat between the brick and just leaves it there, drifting through open windows along with traffic and music and people talking too loud three floors below because nobody wants to be inside if they can help it.

By the time I get back from my forty-eight, my shirt’s clinging to my back and the stairs feel more like a cardio workout than they should. Every muscle in me is already calculating the shortest distance between me and the shower.

All I want is ten minutes of peace before the boys inevitably start another group chat discussion about the Red Sox bullpen.

I hear the water running upstairs before I’ve even got my keys back in my pocket, stopping me halfway up the stairs. I take the rest of them two at a time and drop my bag in my room, already peeling off my clothes on the way to the ensuite.

Steam has already fogged the mirrors by the time I push the door open. Darcy stands under the spray with her head tipped back, rinsing shampoo from her hair, her wet curls darker against her shoulders as the bathroom fills with the scent of coconut and something floral.

I stand there for a second, watching her, and realize coming home to this has already started to feel normal.

Apparently this is my life now.

The glass door slides open. Darcy turns her head, catches me watching, and smirks over her shoulder. Whatever restraint I had left snaps at the sight. I step in under the spray and press my lips to her slick shoulder.

“You’re home.”

“Mmm.”

Water slides down her throat as she looks up at me, her shoulders loose beneath my hands, her whole body soft and unhurried.

I used to think peace meant never needing anything to be more complicated than it had to be. Now it’s this—her shampoo in my bathroom, her voice carrying through the apartment, finding her under my shower when I get home.

“How was shift?” she asks.

“Long.”

I rub my nose along her neck while my hands settle at her waist, feeling the familiar curve of her beneath my palms. She shifts closer without thinking, fitting herself against me like she already knows where she belongs.

“Tyler’s not home yet?”

“Soon. Had a thing with Coop.”

“A thing?”

“Claimed it’d be quick,” I say against her skin. “Which means I’ve got you to myself for about twenty minutes, and I plan on using every one of them.”

She smiles, tipping her head back against my shoulder.

“Is that so?”

“Twenty minutes,” I remind her.

“You’re very confident for a man who just got home.”

“That a challenge?”

I wait, but she just smiles.