“Not my fault your stove is out for blood.”
“You’re just impatient.”
“Wrong. I’mhungry.” His gaze slides down me like he’s not talking about food anymore.
“Please don’t flirt with me before I’ve had coffee.”
“Fine.” He drops the spatula. “I’ll make you one.”
“You’re not touching my espresso machine.”
“Itouched youlast night,and that went pretty well.”
I roll my eyes hard but when he brushes past me, his fingers trailing down my back, I don’t stop him.
Carter finally stumbles in a few minutes later, his hair fluffed in every direction and yawning so dramatically I want to record it. He walks right over, wraps his arms around my waist, and buries his face in my neck. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”
I hum, resting my hands over his. “Sleep okay?”
“Mmm. Had this dream you were moaning my name while Tate held your wrists down.”
Tate sets the coffee on the counter without a word, smirking as he grabs the plates.
I sigh. “It wasn’t a dream.”
“Best sleep of my life.”
By midday we’ve had too much coffee. There’s us screaming into headsets and making out during stream breaks. Forgetting how to function every time one of them looks at me. I’m in the middle of a three-hour stream with ranked scrims and the tension is ungodly high when Tate’s voice comes through my headset. “Left side. They’re pushing.”
“Copy.” I snap to cover as my fingers fly over my keyboard. I land a shot that gets us a team wipe.
The dings from chat haven’t stopped since we started the stream.
Agirlsgirl: HOLY SHIT HAVEN WTF
Agirlsgirl: GODTIER MOVE
spooky: is ghost actually letting her get last kill?
I snort, muted of course before I lean back in my chair for half a second. Carter’s not in the game but he’s curled on the floor behind me with a laptop, live on his “Just Chatting” stream, narrating everything like a backup sports announcer with a crush.
“You should’ve seen the way her hands moved,” he’s telling his chat. “Like, that was the sexiest headshot I’ve ever—wait. Not like that. I mean. Uh.Hi, welcome to the stream.”
I grin, my cheeks heating.
Tate’s not helping. “Don’t lie, golden boy. You meant it like that.”
“Ididn’t!”
“I did,” Tate adds, unmuted, his voice going out to both of our streams. “She can shoot or sit on my face, either way, I’m dying happy.”
That clip is definitely going to go viral. I’m going to die.
“Muted!” I hiss-laugh, slamming my mic off to slap at Tate’s leg as he leans into my space.
“You love it,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming behind the neon red mask he threw back on halfway through the match. “You love when they hear what you do to us.”
“I love whenyoushut up so I can carry your ass.”
