Page 200 of Rising Heat

I put the reservation in my calendar before either of us had the chance to talk ourselves out of it.

We never mentioned it again.

Tyler made sure neither of us picked up an overtime shift Saturday night, which is already more planning than we’ve ever put into taking somebody to dinner.

Together or otherwise.

I ironed a shirt after last night’s shift, which is probably the first sign I’ve completely lost perspective because I haven’t ironed a shirt for dinner since… honestly, I couldn’t tell you.

By the time Saturday gets here, Tyler’s upstairs changing for the third time.

“She’s gonna think we’re trying too hard.”

I glance down at the sleeves I’d ironed before eight o’clock this morning.

“We probably are.”

He laughs.

“We’re in it now.”

Neither of us changes.

I lean against the hallway wall outside our apartment, deliberately trying not to think about what exactly we’re doing here. Because that’s the problem—I honestly don’t know.

Three months ago she was our tenant. A month ago she became all I could think about. Now I’ve got a reservation under my last name, my brother’s upstairs deciding between two nearly identical blue shirts, and I’m standing in the hallway waiting to take the same woman out with both of us.

My mother would have a fucking field day.

She hugged Darcy after the St. Patrick’s Day parade like she’d known her for years. Then she’d looked at me and Tyler with that look mothers somehow perfect before their kids are old enough to lie to them.

I’d spent the whole walk to the Bell telling myself I imagined it.

Standing here now, I’m starting to think I owe Ma an apology.

A second later, Darcy’s making her way down the hallway stairs and everything else falls away.

Dark red with tiny white flowers scattered across the fabric. Thin straps. A slit that flashes one bare thigh every couple of steps. The dress skims her waist before falling loose again, and somehow she paired it with those beat-up white sneakers she wears everywhere instead of heels.

Her hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders, and she’s carrying one of those tiny purses that couldn’t possibly fit anything useful.

I catch myself smiling before she even looks up.

Christ.

Tyler comes around the corner, stops beside me without saying a word at first, and I don’t have to look at him to know he’s wearing the exact same expression I am.

“Damn.”

I still don’t take my eyes off her.

“No kidding.”

Darcy looks up, adjusting one of the thin straps on her shoulder.

“What?”

Tyler answers before I can.