Page 24 of Diesel’s Desire

Heat crawls up my neck, and I hate that it’s not entirely embarrassment. “That’s not—this isn’t about being coy.”

“Then what’s it about?”

I swing my legs out of bed, grab my robe off the chair, and yank it on so fast the belt tangles before I get it tied. Thunder lifts his head from his spot on the rug, glances between the two of us, and apparently decides none of this concerns him, because he drops his head right back down.

“It’s about the fact that you’re on the wrong side of the law. And I just—” I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. “I can’t believe I did this.”

“You did more than this,” Evan says, and I hear the grin in it without even looking at him. “Multiple times, if memory serves.”

“That’s not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to help. Just stating facts.”

I turn around, and he’s sitting up now, sheet gathered loosely at his waist, one arm resting on his bent knee, watching me pace the length of my own bedroom without interrupting. He doesn’t look worried. He doesn’t look hurt, either, which somehow makes this worse, because some small, stupid part of me expected this to matter to him the way it’s currently detonating in my chest.

“You need to leave,” I say again, quieter this time.

“Alright.” He says it easily, no fight in it. He gets up buck naked and walks into my living room, with me following, to start gathering his clothes off the floor where they landed at various points last night. “You want to tell me why the sudden emergency, or am I supposed to guess?”

“You know why.”

“Enlighten me anyway.” He pulls his jeans on, doesn’t bother with the button yet, just stands there in the morning light like he owns the room, all ink and scars and unhurried confidence. “Because from where I’m standing, you invited me in last night. You asked me to stay. Doesn’t sound like an emergency from here.”

“That was last night.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to. “This is this morning. This is the part where I remember I’m a cop, and you’re⁠—”

“Diesel,” he finishes for me, and there’s something careful under the ease now, something that wasn’t there a second ago.

“Yes.”

“Funny. Didn’t hear you calling me that last night.”

I don’t have an answer for that, because he’s right, and we both know it, and standing here arguing about names feels like an excuse to avoid saying what I’m actually afraid of. I press both hands against my face and breathe out slowly through my fingers.

“I need you to go,” I say, and this time it comes out smaller than I want it to.

Something shifts in him then. Not the smirk falling away exactly, more like it softens at the edges, and he crosses the room in a few steps, close enough that I catch his scent again, whatever’s left of last night’s cologne mixed with skin, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him instead of backing away.

“Hey.” He tips my chin up with two fingers, gentle, nothing like the man rumors describe. “I’m not gonna make this hard on you. You want me gone, I’m gone. But don’t stand there and pretend last night didn’t happen just because the sun came up.”

“I’m not pretending anything.” My voice cracks a little on the last word, and I hate it.

“Alright.” He drops his hand, steps back, finishes buttoning his jeans, and reaches for his shirt off the floor. “Alright, Penny.”

He dresses without hurrying, unbothered, and every second of it makes my skin prickle worse, because some part of me wants him to argue harder, wants him to fight for a few more minutes in this room, and another part of me is already composing the incident report I never intend to file, registering exactly how bad this looks from every possible angle.

At the door, he stops, boots on, shirt buttoned crooked at the collar, and looks back at me standing there in my robe with my hair a wreck and my arms crossed over my chest watching him leave.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, “I don’t regret a single minute of last night.”

“Evan—”

“I know.” He holds up a hand before I can finish whatever I was about to say, and the corner of his mouth ticks up again, that same maddening amusement creeping back in. “You’ll call me if you change your mind. Or you won’t. Either way, I had a good night, Officer Carpenter.”

And then he’s gone, boots on the porch steps, truck door opening and closing out front, engine rumbling to life and fading down the street while I stand frozen in my own hallway with my heart still going like I ran a mile.

I don’t move for a long time after the sound of his engine disappears.

Thunder wanders over eventually, presses his big head against my thigh, and I sink down onto the floor next to him without really deciding to, my back against the wall, knees pulled up under the robe. He licks my hand once, unimpressed with whatever crisis I’m having, and settles down beside me like he’s got all morning.