Page 42 of Windlass

Stevie briefly imagined what Lilian would have said to that, prior to Ivy and Lilian getting together, back when she had hated Ivy with a passion that had turned out to be just that—passion. The thought made her miss Lil, who would have also had a thing or two to say about what was going down in the house of late—probably something about Stevie’s bare ass on the coffee table and hygiene, which was fair.

“I have an easy day today unless there’s an emergency. Stop by this evening and I’ll let you shoot.”

“Can I join?”

They both jumped and wheeled around. Angie leaned against the door frame in her work clothes with a thermos of coffee, smiling innocently. Stevie’s body lit up like a fucking electrical fire. Angie had snuck into her bed again last night, and while Stevie’d once again pretended to be sleeping, this time heat had stemmed from more than one location. She wasn’t sure she could manage another platonic night.

“If you want Jaq to beat your ass, yeah.”

“I’m always up for having my ass whipped, Stevie. You know this.”

Again, Angie’s tone was all innocence, and almost appropriate for younger audiences. The images that flashed through Stevie’s mind were not.

“Pro tip,” Stevie said to Jaq, turning away from Angie before her ability to remain cool and professional disintegrated entirely. “Choose your roommates carefully, or you’ll end up with one like this.”

Jaq’s gaze flickered between them, and Stevie groaned inwardly as Jaq smirked. So much for playing it cool.

“I’ll see if Ivy wants to join too, if she gets off in time,” Stevie added. Safety in numbers.

The sketches Angie had done of Stevie burned through the cover of her sketchpad, watching her all that day. She turned to them regularly, knowing,knowing, it was a mistake to put herself directly in the way of temptation. Her art didn’t come close to the real thing, but she had managed to capture enough—the glint of something hard behind Stevie’s bright blue eyes and easy smile. A promise of iron.

She turned up the fan on her desk, momentum pushing her along, faster and faster, relentlessly, and the moment it stopped the crash would come—and with it, regret.

She couldn’t stop. At least Ivy might be there this evening. Perhaps she should insist on chaperoned-only time with Stevie to prevent herself fucking things up.

Or she could just talk to Stevie.

That thought cooled her down. What the hell would she say? She checked the kennel reservation list as she mulled this over. At least she wasn’t thinking about Lana. But had she replaced Lana with Stevie, or was what she was feeling real?

She needed Lilian and Stormy, not just Ivy. People whogother on a fundamental level and would tell her what to do, so that at least when she did the opposite she’d know she was fucking up.

Texting on the clock was fine if you were your own boss, so she opened a group chat with Stormy and Lilian, begging them to come shoot holes in things. Her leg bounced beneath the desk, periodically hitting the side with a metallic thud. Poor Jaq. She hoped the kid wouldn’t be too overwhelmed.

In the end, everyone came for archery.

Angie emerged from the barn to a gorgeous early July sunset and familiar cars parked in the driveway. There was plenty of light left in the evening, despite the pink clouds, and Stormy’s laughter bounced across the yard from the patio, where the group had gathered.

Stevie was blocked from her view. Her heart threw a fit anyway, thunking heavily as it hurled itself around her ribcage like a caged animal. She pressed a hand to her sternum to calm it before it tried to claw its way up her throat. People talked about getting butterflies; this was more like getting pterodactyls. Wasn’t it bad enough she’d been in a state of constant arousal for the last few days, alternating with emotional chaos? Getting off didn’t even help. An hour later, and her body would be right back, begging for something she should not let it have. She inhaled the summer air, redolent with wildflowers and grass, and tried not to look for Stevie.

Hah. As ifthatwas an option.

She sought salvation elsewhere. Stormy stood the nearest. Angie wrapped her arms around her neck from behind, resting her head alongside her friend’s. Stormy’s curves filled her with a kind of comfort she’d found rarely in her thirty years; she was soft and strong whereas so many of the people in Angie’s life had been hard and weak. Brittle, like her parents. She swept her gaze over the gathering, heart aching with a fierce longing for days like these to last forever, for these people to last forever, like this.

Stormy, with her easy warmth and generosity of spirit. Lilian, practical and kind. Morgan, steady and stubborn and safe. Ivy and Emilia, who they’d brought into the fold, were welcome bright spots, and they’d soothed her friends’ private hurts; she loved them both. And Stevie. Always Stevie. Her little pterodactyl.

Stevie must have sensed Angie’s gaze because she looked up, still smiling from something someone else had said. The smile paused, then deepened, and her eyes stayed on Angie as she responded to the conversation.

Memory jerked her back to the coffee table and to Stevie, leaning toward her, her eyes a javelin thrown straight through Angie’s chest, before sauntering out of the room. It was perhaps the hottest thing that had ever happened to her.

“Hey, love.” Stormy gently bumped their heads together, bringing her back to the present. “This is fun. Will Stevie shoot an apple off the top of your head?”

“I heard that, and no I will not. Safety first. Right, Jaq?” said Stevie.

Jaq, who stood by Stevie and Morgan, grinned. “You should totally do it.”

“You’re a bad influence on my stable hand. Jaq, this is Stormy who owns—”

“That coffeeshop in town everyone goes to,” Jaq finished.

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