Chapter 27
Steam curled around us as the shower water turned lukewarm.
Angel slowly and deliberately traced soap over my shoulders, washing away more than just sleep.
His thumbs pressed into the knots along my spine, coaxing out stiffness and tension.
I melted like butter in his hands, wishing I’d accepted his offer to stay in bed all day.
“Stop thinking,” he murmured against my damp hair.
“I’m not.”
He nipped my earlobe. “Mhmm.”
The accusation dissolved into the mist as he turned me to face him, water sluicing down the planes of his chest. I traced the lines of his tattoos with my fingertips as droplets clung to his lashes.
“I wasn’t. Not really. Just reconsidering your first offer.”
He grinned and leaned in to capture my lips with his.
I opened for him with a sigh, the bitter coffee taste of him flooding my senses.
He hummed approval, the vibration traveling straight through me as he angled his head to take the kiss deeper still.
We lingered in the moment, my hands finding their way to his hips as he deepened the kiss with aching slowness.
Time narrowed the world around us to the slide of lips, the catch of teeth, the way his breath hitched when I nipped at his lower lip. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, bodies aching as the water began to cool.
My stomach took that moment to let out a ferocious growl.
Angel laughed. “I guess we need to feed the beast.” He reached behind me and turned off the water, shoving back the curtain to grab a towel.
“I can microwave a breakfast sandwich or something,” I offered as he ran the towel over me. “If there’s something else you’d rather do today.”
“I thought you trusted me.”
“Ah, yeah?”
“We’ll start with breakfast, then. I know a place.” He wrapped the towel around my hips and gave me a little shove toward the door. “Go get dressed.”
I stared at him for another long minute, struck stupid by watching him dry himself off. But my stomach growled again, knocking me out of the trance. I grumbled in annoyance at my traitorous gut and headed to the bedroom to find something to wear.
He strolled naked through the apartment, retrieving his bag and pulling out clothes, transforming himself effortlessly from mouthwatering hot to devastating with low-slung jeans and a fitted black tank that outlined his muscles, which he hid beneath a sweatshirt with the U of M logo on it.
“Did you go to the U of M?” I asked as I pulled on jeans.
“Yep. Criminal Justice degree. It was the only thing the military made good on, paying for my degree. You?”
“Metro State,” I said. “The U was out of my budget. But I got to double minor in violence prevention and sociology. I also took a few cybersecurity and forensics classes.”
As I rummaged through my closet, the familiar paralysis set in. Button-ups and my usual black tees practically shouted funeral director on casual Friday. What did anyone wear on a date with the hottest man they knew?
“You’re overthinking,” Angel said, appearing at my shoulder still radiating shower heat. He ran his fingers over the hanging fabrics with the same deliberate care he’d used to trace my spine earlier. “It’s just breakfast.”
He plucked the cherry blossom shirt from its hanger—the one I’d bought on a whim last spring and never worn—the subtle embroidery, black on black, too pretty for my usual attire and the chances of blood spatter on the job. But we weren’t working today. That meant no blood, right?
Angel rubbed the silky fabric between thumb and forefinger. “Breathable and soft,” he murmured, approving. “Patterned so you don’t look like FBI.”
I gaped at him. “Rude. And never.”
“And it’s your favorite color,” Angel said as he stepped into his boots and grabbed my leather jacket from the closet.
A flush spread across my cheeks as I took the shirt, putting it on over a dark tank. But he was wrong. My favorite color was the dark whiskey of his eyes.
Angel chuckled as my stomach protested again, the sound echoing through the apartment like a disgruntled bear. He held out the jacket and let me slide into it.
“Let me grab my keys,” I grumbled. His fingers trailed down my arm in reluctant release, leaving phantom heat in their wake.
I stuffed my keys in my pocket, noticed Ivan’s abandoned mug half full of now cold tea, and snatched it up.
Peanut Butter’s tail twitched in his sunbeam on top of the small cat tower near the window.
The faintest prickle of magic danced between my shoulder blades, Nox returning to his roost as a tattooed dragon on my back.
Then I saw Nikki’s sketch abandoned on the coffee table, pencil smudges capturing a moment I hadn’t realized she’d witnessed: Angel and me standing in the doorway. I stared at my own sketched face, at the way my pencil smudged eyes watched Angel with something terrifyingly close to worship.
This version of me in the picture looked tired—bags under my eyes, hair mussed—but more detailed than the Angel on the page.
Like she’d had more time to study me and put me to paper.
But Angel looked at me in the picture, gaze focused in my direction.
The tilt of his head and softness around his eyes as he stared at me said something that made my heart flip over.
Like no matter how crappy, tired, and plagued with self-doubt I might be, he saw me and somehow still liked what he saw.
Angel slid his hand under my jacket, settling at the base of my spine. “Wow, she’s good.”
“Amazing,” I agreed, shocked to the core. Did he really look at me like that? I gazed up at him, and he looked thoughtful.
“We can find a frame for it. Add it to your collection.” He pointed to the wall of framed art behind the couch.
“Ivan claims they’re all naked, so I don’t think this fits the aesthetic.”
“We should model for her nude next time? Okay.”
I gaped at him. “No. You’re not modeling nude for my best friend.” He was mine. All mine. Angel’s laughter curled around me like sunlight, warming parts of me I hadn’t realized were still cold.
“Seriously, though,” he murmured, his thumb tracing idle circles at the small of my back. “We should keep it.” His voice dropped, rough at the edges. “She’s very talented.”
My throat tightened. “I look terrible.”
He studied the picture. “You look tired. It’s what it means to be human. Not always performing or polished for a camera. That’s real.”
“But you look flawless.”
He shook his head. “Tired too. See the narrowness of my eyes? The hint of lines? The tightness of my jaw? Your friend sees everything.” He didn’t deny anything.
Including how his expression said love and mine said hope. Holy fuck.
“Guess that settles it,” I said hoarsely. “Maybe we can hang it in my room?”
“Sure.” He leaned in to press a kiss to my temple. “Let’s get you fed; then we’ll worry about frames.” As Angel’s lips lingered against my temple, I realized this was the first morning where breakfast wasn’t just food—it was a beginning.