Page 82 of Rising Heat

The rug softens my steps as I cross the room toward her. She’s still tucked into herself, hair half across her face, lips parted, one hand curled loosely around the edge of the throw like she’d fallen asleep mid-reach. I stand over her a second longer than I need to.

A month ago she was the pretty girl who rented the apartment upstairs. Now she’s asleep on my couch after talking about mine and Tyler’s threesomes with her eyes bouncing between us like she wanted to know more.

This is not good for any of us.

I crouch beside the couch and slide one arm underneath her knees, the other behind her back. Darcy stirs immediately. A soft sound escapes her, more breath than word, and her face turns toward my chest.

She melts into me without opening her eyes, one hand catching in the front of my shirt as she tucks herself closer.

Christ.

The weight of her shouldn’t feel this good, but standing there with her curled against me, warm and sleep-heavy and completely unguarded, it’s becoming increasingly harder to remember why keeping my distance ever seemed like a realistic plan.

I start mentally naming baseball Hall of Famers to keep my cock from jerking to full attention. Her hair smells like whatever floral shampoo she uses and something vanilla. She makes another quiet sound and curls closer, one hand curling loosely in the front of my shirt as I stand there holding her.

Tyler, from the kitchen, lets out a low whistle.

I shoot him a look and he just smiles even wider.

“Yeah…that’s gonna be a long walk upstairs.”

I keep walking.

“She didn’t even hesitate.”

“Tyler.”

He raises both hands.

“What?” His grin turns less smug. “I’m just saying, you look a lot less annoyed about this than you did this morning.”

I don’t answer. If I did open my mouth, something honest would come out, and enough lines got crossed tonight without adding that one to the list.

The stairs creak underneath my weight but Darcy doesn’t stir. Her apartment is freezing by now, and my room is warmer and closer. It makes more sense to let her sleep up here.

I push open my bedroom door with my shoulder pretending that the practicality of it all doesn’t feel an excuse.

The room is dim except for the lamp on the nightstand I’d left on. I cross to the bed and lower her as carefully as I can, but the second her head finds the pillow she burrows deeper into it.

My pillow.

Her hair spreads across the dark pillowcase, soft lips parted and Tyler’s hoodie enveloping her in a way that’s got me jealous of a piece of clothing. I sit on the edge of the bed and pull the duvet over her. The same loose curl that’s been falling across her face all day has found its way back across her mouth.

Before I’ve decided anything, my knuckles are at her temple, slow, tucking it back. Her skin is warm. She turns into the touch with a sigh, nuzzling into my pillow, and I stay exactly where I am for a few seconds longer than I should.

I push to my feet and lean over the nightstand, tearing a page from the notebook. I leave the note on the empty pillow beside her before killing the lamp.

The door closes behind me all the way, the latch catching with a soft click that doesn’t feel as final as I’d like. One hand stays on the frame while I stare at the closed door, putting a few feet of hallway between us like that’s somehow going to make a difference.

Tyler’s already at the island when I get back downstairs, pouring another bourbon. He slides the second glass across without looking. I take it, and for a while neither of us says anything. We stand there shoulder to shoulder, watching snow blow past the windows the way we’ve stood through everything else that didn’t come with easy words.

Tyler breaks first.

“She likes you.”

“That obvious?”

“To me?” He tips his glass. “You carried her upstairs like you were navigating a minefield.”