Page 295 of What We Burn

“I need to go and rescue him,” I say to Milo, who’s practically giddy watching this play out. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

Milo puts a hand on my waist, spins me around. For a second I think he’s going to say something cutting or make a last joke at Jamie’s expense, but instead he kisses me. Full on. His mouth is sweet and unexpectedly gentle, and I melt into it, arms around his neck, the press of him warm and familiar in all the best ways.

He pulls back, grinning. “You’ll miss me while you’re gone,” he says, and nuzzles my cheek, “and when you get back, we can play naked games in the new bed.”

“You finished the frame?”

He makes a show of whispering, even though no one else is in the kitchen.

“I finished it.” He looks very, very proud. “The mattresses are officially off the floor. Full platform underneath. I did, like, ninety percent of the assembly myself, and the only time Holden helped was when I dropped the Allen wrench behind the radiator.”

“You made fuck pit 2.0.”

He gives me a look, eyes wide. “I made fuck pit 2.0.”

I laugh. “You’re a visionary, Milo.”

He bows. “I know.”

I give him one quick last kiss and head for the hallway.

“Sage.”

Eli’s on the stairs. Halfway down, one hand on the railing, like he stopped mid-step when he heard me. He’s in a soft gray T-shirt and his hair is doing that thing where it falls into his eyes because he hasn’t pushed it back.

“Hey.” I stop, bag half on my shoulder. “I’m heading out. Jamie’s here.”

“I know.” He comes down the last few steps to stand in front of me. Close enough that I can smell his soap and the faint trace of coffee and him. “I was hoping we could make some time to talk. Soon. Just us.”

He’s careful with the words. Deliberate. Like he’s been rehearsing the sentence in his head and still isn’t sure he’s earned the right to say it.

“Talk?” I repeat.

“Yeah.” His jaw works. “There are things I need to say to you that I should have said a long time ago.”

I look at him. At the amber eyes that held mine in an ambulance while my throat was in shreds. At the mouth that told me I was easy and fun and not worth what he’d led me to believe. At the hands that discipline me and comfort me and kill for me. At the man who can split himself into tenderness and cruelty so cleanly it makes everyone around him bleed on the seam.

My throat tightens. “Bad things?”

He reels back. “What? No. Never. Sorry, don’t be worried. This is a good talk.”

The lump evaporates. “Oh thank God. Okay, when I get back?”

“How about tomorrow? I have a feeling you’ll be shit-faced tonight.”

I chuckle. “Sounds good.”

Because he’s Eli and can’t help himself, he leans in and kisses me, his fingers brushing my wrist before he lets me go. I struggle not to turn around and jump into his arms and wrap my legs around his body.

Instead, I tear myself away and hurry toward the door, checking myself in the hall mirror as I hear Jamie saying, “And I once drove my roommate home from a party without hitting a single⁠—”

“Jamie!” I appear behind Knox, grabbing my jacket off the hook. “He knows you’re good. I told them.”

“You told them what, specifically? Because his face says you told him I’m here to steal you and sell you on the black market.”

“That’s just his face.”

“His face says he’s about to commit a war crime, Sage. I’m worried he’s a beautiful, incredibly handsome, obscenely terrifying war criminal.”