Page 168 of Revv

I toss my phone onto the bed and go back to my makeup bag, shoving the last few things inside before zipping it closed. I’m still wearing one of Revel’s shirts from last night, the hem brushing high on my thighs, and when I glance at him through the mirror, his eyes are already dragging slowly down my body.

Not subtle.

Not even pretending.

I let mine do the same right back.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but black sweats, tattoos on full display, looking entirely too fucking good for someone who hasn’t even had coffee yet.

His gaze catches mine in the mirror.

Then drops to the shirt again.

A second later, he shifts on the mattress and adjusts himself through his sweats.

I turn around, smiling. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“You’re over there fighting for your life because I’m wearing a T-shirt.”

“My T-shirt,” he corrects, eyes sweeping over me again. “Big difference.”

“You’ve seen me in your clothes all week.”

“Yeah, and somehow it still fucks me up every time.”

I laugh and toss my makeup bag into the suitcase. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously hard for you.”

I roll my eyes, the smirk still pulling at my mouth as I point toward his half-packed duffel. “Pack your shit before I get violent.”

His grin goes filthy. “Mama, you threatening me just makes me harder.”

He winks, then pushes to his feet and crosses the room before I can tell him to fuck off. One arm hooks around my waist, pulling me into him long enough to press a kiss to the top of my head.

Then he lets me go like he didn’t just make my stomach flip and goes back to packing his shit.

Cabrón.

Packing is easier than it should be considering we’ve somehow managed to make this hotel room look lived in over the last few days.

Clothes are draped over the chair, Revel’s shoes are near the end of the bed, my laptop charger is twisted through three other cords beside the table and there are empty water bottles everywhere because, apparently, this man hydrates like he’s preparing to cross a goddamn desert.

I start clearing my side of the room while he handles his, and for a few minutes neither of us says much. There’s music playing quietly from his phone and traffic moving beyond the windows, but the room itself feels different knowing we’re actually leaving.

Yesterday, when the shop said the part was installed and they only needed to finish testing everything, I should’ve been excited.

I had been waiting for that update since the second my car betrayed me, but instead all I could think about was how quickly this little Miami bubble had become something I didn’t want popping yet.

That feeling hasn’t gone away overnight.

I’m still ready to go home. I miss Guac enough that I’ve started checking the pet camera more often than any sane person should, and Bex has threatened to file a missing-person report even though she knows exactly where I am.

But there’s a weird weight to folding my clothes and watching everything disappear back into bags.

It isn’t sadness, exactly.