Page 72 of What We Burn

We collapse. A tangle of limbs and sweat and heavy breathing on a bed that was never built for three. Milo is flat on his back with Sage draped across his chest. I’m on my side, one arm across her waist, my face in her hair.

Nobody moves for a solid minute.

“So,” Milo says. He’s staring at the ceiling, grinning, looking profoundly pleased with himself. “That was productive.”

“Shut up, Milo.”

“I’m just saying. If the meeting’s half as good⁠—”

“Milo.”

“We’re going to be late.”

“Very late,” Sage murmurs against his chest.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Knox:

ETA? Odin doesn’t like late.

I type back one-handed.

Me:

On our way.

I roll out of bed and start hunting for pants. “Showers,” I say. “Do them, and do them fast. I’ll make coffee, but if either of you wants more than an energy bar, you’re on your own.”

Milo sits up, raking a hand through his dark curls like the morning’s events have achieved a spiritual efficiency.

“You’re no fun after sex, Holden. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Move.”

Sage laughs into Milo’s chest, muffled and real.

I reach for my pants and start the process of getting this circus to a meeting.

TWENTY-ONE

SAGE

Tue, Jul 28 at 6:45am

Brock:

Remember how you begged? Next time, no one saves you. Sweet dreams, Sage.

[Delete]

“No,” Holden says, for the fourth time since we got in the car.

“You haven’t even heard my full argument,” I say.

“I heard enough of it before you finished the first sentence.”

“That’s because you’re a cop and you think you already know the answer to every question.”