Page 32 of Hot Under the Collar

Leo felt a lump form in his throat. “Hey, Lynne?”

“Yeah?” she called from the kitchen.

If he didn’t ask now, it would kill him—the not-knowing, the waiting for her to ask him to leave. “You think I should head home after the show?”

She came back balancing two bowls of popcorn, brows pinched. “What? Are you kidding me? What if Mama changes her mind again tomorrow?” She scoffed and set a bowl in front of him. “You’re not getting out of this that easy, Leo March.”

Relief swept through him. He laughed, the tension loosening.

But Lynne’s face shifted, uncertainty creeping in just as quickly. “Wait. Did you want to go home?”

“No,” he said quietly. “That’s not what I meant.” He patted the seat beside him, and she sank back down, the couch dipping under her weight.

She looked almost shy now. “I mean, if Mike needs you back or you need a break, I totally get it. But…” Her voice softened. “I’d like you to stay a little longer—if you can.”

“I can,” he said simply, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Where else am I going to get popcorn this good, anyway?”

She smiled, settling in. They found their usual spots at opposite ends of the couch, bowls resting on their laps, the trashy reality show casting flickers of light across the room. Fred, snored between them, looking perfectly at peace.

Halfway through the second episode, Lynne’s legs stretched out toward him. He propped them up on his knees, careful not to disturb Fred. It felt so intimately casual, Leo realized he had lost the plot for a moment.

By the time the credits rolled, she was laughing sleepily at the screen. “Can you believe these people?” she grinned, propping herself up again. “Just leave the bowls. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

They stood almost in unison and found themselves shoulder-to-shoulder at the bathroom door.

“You go first,” he offered.

“We can share,” she said with an easy shrug, grabbing her toothbrush.

He smiled and followed her in, setting his change of clothes on the sink. The bathroom was small enough that their elbows kept brushing as they washed up—their reflections caught mid-move in the mirror, like a life they hadn’t planned but somehow built together.

For one suspended moment, it felt like a glimpse into something possible. Side by side at the sink each night, her hair piled on her head, his shoulder brushing hers. Ordinary. Perfect.

He blinked the thought away.

Lynne toweled off her face and headed toward her bedroom, still talking about the kittens’ next livestream. He followed her and stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame.

“Yeah,” he said, half-distracted, “that sounds like a plan.”

And then, without warning, she lifted the hem of her shirt.

For a fraction of a second, his brain didn’t register what was happening. Then fabric moved, light shifted, and skin flashed pale against the dim glow spilling from the hallway. He froze.

She was still talking—something about timing the livestream, maybe—but he couldn’t hear a word. Because there it was: the long curve of her back, the slide of red hair over her shoulder, lace trim peeking out from where her shirt had ended and her sweatpants began. A vision he had no business memorizing.

She slipped on a t-shirt just before he tore his eyes to the doorframe so fast it made his neck jolt.

“Oh my God. Did I just—?” Lynne spun, realizing what she’d done. Blood rushed to her face. “Shit. Autopilot.” She tugged the shirt back down like she could erase the last ten seconds.

“It’s fine,” he lied. Everything inside him said otherwise, heat crawling up from his chest. He lowered his gaze to the floor. “I should’ve looked away faster.”

“No, it was me,” she said quickly, still flustered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Leo was grateful for the shadow that hid most of his expression—and the fact that she couldn’t see how his pulse had gone wild. “I’m just gonna … take that shower, then.” He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom.

“Yeah. Of course.”

The moment stretched, awkward and breathless, until he stepped back into the bathroom and shut the door.