Page 47 of Controlled Burn
“I know.”
“I can’t protect you if this goes sideways.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He looked at her—really looked. Like she was fire, and he didn’t know whether to douse it or step into the flame.
“You’re driving me insane,” he said, so quietly she barely heard.
She stepped closer. “Good.”
His jaw flexed. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. The smell of you. The way you looked at me like you already knew this was going to wreck us both."
She swallowed.
He closed the distance in one step.
But stopped.
“I want to taste you again,” he whispered, voice breaking. “But if I do—”
“Then don’t stop,” she said.
He stared at her like he was already undressing her with his eyes.
Then stepped back.
“Not here,” he said. “Not tonight.”
“Then when?”
His mouth twisted. “Soon.”
She stood there long after he left, heart pounding so loud it drowned the station.
***
Later still, in the rec room, Talia found Ryan, Brent, Brooks, and Reyes mid-hot-dog-eating contest. A half-empty pack of buns lay strewn across the table. Brooks was commentating, adding oddball play-by-plays about union rules and dietary sabotage. Reyes had mustard on his nose. Kennedy hovered at the edge, arms folded, anxious but half-smiling when Ryan handed her a soda.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Brent said, mid-bite. “This is strategy.”
“It’s indigestion,” Ryan muttered.
“Bonds the team,” Brent added. “You in?”
Talia shook her head, laughing. “I like my arteries unblocked.”
Ryan winked. “Told you it was a disgrace.”
“Brent once lost a chili cookoff and blamed the altitude,” Reyes said, wiping mustard off his nose. “This is just his next humiliation.”
Reyes burped, victorious.
It wasn’t much. Just laughter. Grease. Stupid bets and the warmth of people who, for all their flaws, had each other’s backs.
It was the most normal she’d felt in days.
But beneath it all, under the laughter and tension and static in her veins, Talia knew—
