Page 60 of Rising Heat

I’ve just started typing when a knock lands on my door. I frown. Another knock, then Tyler’s voice sounds through the wood.

“Before you tell me to go away, I should warn you I’m armed with carbs.”

I freeze. My stomach, apparently loyal to no one, gives a soft growl.

My phone vibrates again.

Bex is going to have a lot of opinions about this.

Darcy

I g2g, Tyler comes bearing carbs.

Bex

DARCY REED! That better not be all the comes ton⁠—

I lock my phone and toss it onto the couch before standing before I finish reading the text. The blanket slides into a soft heap at my feet when I stand, and suddenly I’m aware of the strip of bare skin above my leggings, the fact that I never put a bra back on after showering, and the way my sweatshirt rides up every time I move.

For one ridiculous second, I consider changing. Then annoyance flares.

No.

This is my apartment, my body, my comfort. I’m not letting old habits sneak in and make me feel self-conscious in my own space just because Tyler MacAllister happens to be the hot-boy-next-door type.

I cross the room and open the door.

Tyler is standing there in black gym shorts, a fitted white T-shirt stretched across his chest, and a backward Red Sox baseball cap that somehow makes him look even more unfairly good-looking. One muscular thigh is braced against the hall runner as he balances a stock pot and a small tray in one arm and a bottle of white wine in the other. His light brown hair is still damp at the edges.

I bite my lower lip on instinct, as if it will stop me from saying something stupid out loud.

He looks like he smells good. Which is just rude and feels like entrapment at this point.

Tyler takes one look at me and smiles. His gaze dips once—quick, appreciative, impossible to mistake—before returning to mine, and heat blooms low in my chest before I can do a damn thing about it.

“Catch you at a bad time?”

Before I can answer, a breathy moan floats from the television behind me. Both of us freeze. Of course Lucy and Stephen choose that exact moment to get dramatically naked.

Tyler’s eyes slide over my shoulder toward the TV before returning to me, the corner of his mouth already tipping upward.

“Should I come back?” he asks mildly. “Feels like I’m interrupting something.”

Another moan echoes from the living room.

“Are you watching porn?” he asks full amused.

I stare at him horrified.

“It’s not porn⁠—”

He leans slightly to look past me again.

“Feels like a gray area.”

“It’s prestige television.”

“Sure it is.”