Page 327 of End Game

“Thank you.”

“But the chest wound was bullshit.”

“Of course it was.”

She slips her hand into mine as we reach the truck.

The drive home is easy.

Music low.

Her hand on my thigh.

No heavy conversations.

No relationship processing.

Nobody asking what forever looks like or how five adults navigate another complicated boundary.

Just us.

I didn't realize how much I missed just us until we intentionally made room for it.

That's probably something worth remembering.

The house is mostly quiet when we get home.

There are signs of life—someone left a glass beside the sink, and I can hear something faintly through the wall down the hall—but nobody appears.

Thank God.

Not because I'm embarrassed about where this date is heading.

Mostly because if Dex sees us right now, I know exactly what he'll say.

I have had enough of that man narrating my sex life lately.

Cami walks backward down the hallway in front of me. “You coming?”

“I was considering sleeping on the couch.”

“Liar.”

She opens her bedroom door.

I follow her in.

The second it closes, she turns and slips her arms around my neck.

My hands settle at her waist.

“This was a good date,” she says.

“Was?”

“Technically, I guess it isn't over.”

Her mouth meets mine.