Trouble
That was fast.
Me
Lily.
The response comes with a yawn emoji, because of course it does.
Trouble
It's unlocked.
The night is late and humid, summer heat clinging to my skin as I cross the parking lot. Usually there'd be people onthe streets at this hour, voices carrying from open windows, but I don't notice any of it. My blood is pounding in my ears and the only thing that's going to still it is her.
I go into her apartment without knocking, without announcing myself. She's standing in the kitchen with a glass of water in both hands, leaning against the counter in white panties and a tight white t-shirt that leaves her midriff bare.
Her hair is down, still a little wild from a shower. Her face is clean of makeup. She looks like an underwear ad pulled directly from my filthiest fantasies, and she's completely at ease. A woman who lit a match and came home to wait for the fire.
"I'm pleasantly surprised, Callahan."
Her voice is light, amused, utterly unbothered. "Figured you'd stand in your kitchen for a while longer. Maybe have a conversation with your ceiling first."
I close the door behind me. Turn the lock. The click is loud in the small apartment. Her mouth is still arranged in that smile, the one she wears when she thinks she's in control, but I catch the way her eyes track the movement of my hand on the lock.
Her feet are bare on the tile. Pretty, like the rest of her.
Every time I see her, I'm overwhelmed with the need to scoop her up and hold her, to pull her against me, and keep her there because that's where she belongs. Where I belong. But right now I'm something else entirely.
"Vanilla, huh?"
The smile holds. She shrugs. "That was for Rome's benefit. You know that."
"I know exactly who it was for."
I take my shoes off and place them next to hers by the door, as if I've been doing it for years.
Another shrug from her, smaller this time. "I thought it was funny."
"I almost choked to death."
"Now that," she smirks, "was funnier."
She holds her ground. Chin up, shoulders back, the brat fully operational. She's enjoying this. She thinks this is the same game we've been playing all year, push and pull, tease and retreat, the endless dance of pretending we don't want to tear each other apart.
In about thirty seconds, she's going to find out it isn't.
"Put the water down, Trouble."
She doesn't. She takes another sip, watching me over the rim. Testing.
"Put. It. Down."
For the first time since I walked in, the smile slips. I would stop if it was fear, but no. This is Lily Moreland reaping exactly what she sowed, and the expression on her face says she's starting to understand that.
She sets the glass on the counter.
"You called me vanilla in front of everyone I know." I start walking toward her. "You sat there with your wine and your smart mouth and I had to sit there and take it because your brother was watching."
