Page 110 of Rising Heat

They’ve been up since six. I can hear them…

Bex

They’re probably losing their minds. Go to them!

Darcy

How do I play this?

Darcy

Do I get ready first? I don’t want to look like I’m trying but I also just rolled out of bed.

Three dots appear then disappear. Then:

Bex

I’m going to mentally hold your hand when I say this, because I know Brett was a weird control freak and you haven’t been laid by him or anyone else in nearly half a year, but most guys genuinely don’t give a shit about your hair being a mess or your legs being shaved. It’s not like you’d show up and they’d be like, “Actually…never mind.”

Bex

They’ve been up for over an hour. Their firehoses are locked and metaphorically loaded. Go put them (and yourself) out of your misery already!

I stare at the screen for a long second.

Darcy

That is the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.

Bex

You’re welcome. Now get laid!

Bex

Your vagina will thank me later

I set my phone on the counter and catch my reflection one more time—my oversized tee, sleepshorts, and my hair loose around my shoulders.

Good enough.

More than good enough, if Bex’s unhinged confidence is to be believed.

I knock softly, as if I don’t know they’re already awake. As if they can’t hear me coming down the stairs in a house where everybody hears everything.

The door swings open and⁠—

Holy fuck.

Mack appears in the doorway first.

Gray sweats hanging off his sculpted waist like he walked out of a goddamn Calvin Klein ad, shirtless, coffee mug still in hand. The ink I already knew swirls over his shoulder and down, shifting with muscle that looks like he was born with the genes of a Roman soldier.

And then Tyler comes into view.

Flannel pajama pants, hair still mussed from sleep. And, because apparently the universe enjoys a theme, the Apollo’s belt I’d noticed exactly once and spent weeks trying not to think about peeks above his waistband like it’s not doing things to me. His forearms flex where they’re crossed over his chest, and he’s watching me from across the kitchen with that same easy warmth that’s somehow just as dangerous as anything smoldering Mack can do.

It’s not like I haven’t imagined them before. Of course I have.