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When I can stand without drooling into the sink, I straighten my hair and fix my makeup. I change into a fresh pair of contacts, then darken my liner to hide the blood-shot whites of my fake green eyes.
I’m not going to hide in the bathroom.
I’m going to walk out and prove that I can handle my shit.
But before I brave the suite, I jam Reese’s hat to the bottom of my bag.
I can’t wear it while I’m here, but it’s too important to leave behind.
He’ll never know.
Since I panic-sprinted, I didn’t catch much of their space. The master bedroom isn’t where I plan to start.
I pinch my nose and jog past, pretending I can’t see the rumpled sheets on the bed big enough for five.
The living room is a different kind of minefield.
It’s too comfy for a hotel.
The penthouse was sparkling and sterile.
The Meadows’ suite is clean—because Bishop—but there’s nothing nondescript. Their personalities leap from every surface, and their pheromones aren’t the only reason I can’t drag air into my lungs.
None of the furniture matches. A futon sits next to an expensive, high-backed armchair. A cashmere throw blanket rests beside a quilt made from Reese’s old jerseys. The shelves surrounding the flatscreen hold the weirdest mix of cookbooks, business texts, baseball trophies, and Dutch’s family photos.
It makes no sense, but it’s theirs, and it’s perfect.
Or it would be.
If it were also mine.
Still wearing socks, I pad across the carpet.
Bish stole my sneakers.
I’m expecting him and the rest to pop out, but the suite is silent except for a constant chop-chop-chop.
Around the L-bend in the living room, I find the kitchen. Jin slices green grapes on a cutting board, but he hasn’t found a shirt.
Red claw-marks cut down his pecs, following the slope of the built chest I helped myself to explore.
It says a lot about today that I forgot I fucking marked Jin.
It made sense at the time.
A show of possession.
For our act.
Yeah. That doesn’t even sound believable in my head.
Reality?
I saw my shot, and I took it with a freaking grenade launcher.
I don’t regret what I did, but I really need him to put on a shirt and stop reminding me how hard his pulse hammered for my claws.
“Hungry?” Jin pushes a plate across the breakfast bar.
