Page 57 of Rising Heat

“He gets wicked cranky after saving children,” Coop announces to nobody in particular.

It’s my turn to flip him off.

Marco appears beside us with a bottle of water and the expression of a man who’s been enjoying himself for far too long. He unscrews the cap, takes a slow drink, then looks at me.

“You’re a lot more tolerable when you’re distracted.”

I stare at him.

“Maybe it’s the promotion.”

“Mm.”

He takes another sip. Then:

“Maybe you should think about your tenant more often.”

CHAPTER NINE

darcy

Outside, Boston is doing that weird early-March thing where the sun lies to your face.

The sky is bright, the sidewalks are dry, and the second you crack a window the wind reminds you winter still has both hands around the city’s throat. Inside, though, my apartment is warm.

A pile of mismatched throw pillows now takes up a good amount of real estate on my velvet couch, and the cream waffle-knit throw I’ve fallen asleep under more nights than I’ll admit is permanently drafted across the top. The plush ivory rug underneath my feet is ridiculous in the best way—thick enough that crossing the living room feels like walking through a warm cloud.

A white sage candle burns low on the coffee table, throwing soft light over the half-drunk mug of green tea beside it. My laptop sits open but neglected, Illustrator abandoned in favor of Lucy and Stephen ruining each other’s lives for the second time on my TV.

Tell Me Lies has become my comfort watch, which probably says something mildly concerning about my taste in escapism. Still, there’s something deeply satisfying about watching fictional people make questionable decisions while I sit on a couch I picked out myself, wrapped in a blanket I definitely didn’t need, in a space that’s already starting to feel like home.

I’m curled into the corner of the couch in white tube socks, black leggings, and a pink cropped sweatshirt that has ridden up enough to expose a strip of skin every time I shift beneath the throw—comfortable and completely unbothered.

At least until my phone buzzes.

Bex has a supernatural ability to know exactly when I’m spiraling, nesting, or overthinking myself into a corner.

Bex

What are we doing tonight?

I glance at my laptop.

Darcy

Working.

Bex

Liar.

I laugh under my breath and tuck the blanket tighter around my legs.

Darcy

Rude.

Bex