Page 51 of Heat Lightning

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did,” he answered.

Avoiding his gaze, my eye caught on what was actually on his T-shirt, instead of under it. “Is that an orca whale?”

He looked down to check. “It is.”

Stunned delight buoyed me. Oh, this was fantastic. He wore one of those Y2K T-shirts featuring a fantasy scene of a realistic orca leaping from the water in front of a bright, full moon. Under the water, a baby orca swam with a sea turtle.

A grin stretched my cheeks wide. “You like whales. And octopuses. Octopi?”

“Octopodes,” he mumbled under his breath, refusing to look at me. “And they’re actually big dolphins, you know.”

If I pulled his mask off right now, I’d bet a million bucks he’d be bright red. “You’re a nerd,” I said, a bit of awe in my voice. “Oh my God, this is better than Christmas.”

He scowled at me. It would’ve been frightening, except I just realized there were cute little clownfish swimming around near his belly button. “So, what? Did you think I sat around in a dark basement all day, staring at computer monitors? I have hobbies.”

“Computer monitors? No. Maybe sniffing dirty underwear,” I teased.

He choked. “Different hobbies,” he said with a wheezing cough.

I pictured him knitting in the bushes outside my window and laughed so hard I toppled sideways on the sofa. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I asked, “Do you collect dolphin posters? Or paint miniature models?” My excitement grew. “Oh, do you have a train room?”

He grumbled something low and stalked over to the couch. “Scoot over.”

I sat up to give him room and tucked his sweatshirt between us.

To keep him farther away, of course. I didn’t want to snuggle with it. Or him.

“You have no self-preservation skills, you know that, right?”

Was he actually pouting? “What, are you going to murder me with a crochet hook?” I scrunched up my nose. “Actually, for real, please don’t. The knife would be quicker.”

He chuckled, and tipped his head back to rest on the sofa cushion. The mask pulled up the tiniest bit to reveal his Adam’s apple.

I wanted to lick it.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said, with enough fondness to make my omega preen. “Most people value their life a bit more.”

“Hey!” I smacked a hand against his chest. “I value my life plenty.” My hand lingered on his shirt, though. He was warm. I could curl up right there and breathe him in while he held my leg open just enough to⁠—

“Max,” he said, voice breaking.

I blinked. When had I crawled so close? His eyelashes were long and dark, framing eyes that weren’t entirely blue, after all. A smattering of green flecks surrounded his pupils, like tiny floating islands in an azure sea.

Beautiful.

But in the daylight, I could see the fatigue they carried. He looked tired and worn. Was that because of the suppressants? Were they wearing him down?

He tracked the rabbit-fast pulse at my neck, and his hands wrapped around my waist. Whether to push me away or pull me closer, I couldn’t tell.

Fucking hell, I really was practically in the man’s lap. “Sorry. So sorry,” I repeated, shuffling so my back was to the armrest, feet between us.

He let me go like we were glued together, reluctant to separate. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault.”

Right. I guess it was time for the talk.

“So. You were right. My heat symptoms started this morning,” I began.