front of him, his booted feet crossed. His body is perfect. His dark hair is damp, his handsome face schooled in an unreadable expression.
His eyes, those warm brown eyes, slide over me, lingering on the pucker of my nipples beneath the white tee that I’ve knotted at my waist. Heat and a mix of confusing notions stir in my belly and when his gaze lifts and collides with mine, there is a charge in the air that is as electric as it is familiar and welcome.
“I’m making hot chocolate,” he says, indicating the camping stove where a pot sits on top.
“How is that even possible?” I ask.
His lips curve, the hint of a smile easing the tension between us. “You don’t camp much, do you?”
“Once,” I say. “When I was twelve. All I remember is waking up with about a hundred mosquito bites on my forehead.”
He laughs. “That many, huh?”
“Yes!” I assure him. “I’m not joking, but,” I add, holding up a finger, “we did make s’mores on an open flame. I remember that fondly.”
“Now we make hot chocolate with propane.” He pats the mattress. “Come sit, Pri.” His voice is as warm as cocoa while our connection has somehow become as sticky as the marshmallows on that fire so long ago. Proven by him adding, “If you want to.”
That very statement or question, I’m not sure which, drives home the stickiness between us that was not present before Deleon showed up. In mere minutes, that monster built a wall Adrian and I must now tear down. Me changing behind that curtain added bricks, made it wider and taller. I don’t like it. I don’t welcome it. We’ve given Deleon too much power.
I want it back.
We need it back.
I join Adrian, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, not right next to him, but not on the opposite end of the inflated cushion either. “I can’t believe you were prepared enough for this to have hot chocolate in a cave.”
“And coffee and M & M’s,” he assures me. “Essentials matter.”
“Is this where you tell me a goofy joke about coffee?” I tease.
“No,” he says softly, a small tic in his jaw. “I don’t have a joke in me right now.”
I pull my knees to my chest and rotate to face him. “You got him, Adrian. If we can make Deleon talk—”
“He won’t talk,” he says, his expression unreadable and when I would push for answers, some sort of timer goes off. “That will be the hot water,” he announces, grabbing the pot and pouring water into two cups that must-have cocoa powder inside them.
He uses a wooden stir stick and swishes the contents of the cups and then hands me one. “Thank you,” I say, accepting the cup.
Our fingers brush, our eyes colliding with a jolt, the air thickening between us. “What do you call sad coffee?” he asks.
My lips curve. “I don’t know. What do you call sad coffee?”
“Depresso.”
I laugh, a genuine laugh that defies the hell of the past few hours. “That is so very cheesy.”
“But you laughed.”
“I did,” I say, and I don’t point out that just minutes ago he didn’t think he could tell a joke. I hope this means he’s relaxing back into our relationship. I sip the warm beverage that is both sweet and yummy. “How did you find this place?” I ask.
“I was involved in a shooting that fucked me up,” he surprises me by admitting. “I came up to the cabin and hiked to just clear my head. Ironically, it was raining that day and I took shelter here in the cave. The storm lasted for hours and I had gear with me and just started exploring the cave.”
“When was that?”
“Five years ago, but I didn’t turn it into a shelter until I agreed to go undercover with the Devils.”
“Why create it at all if you thought the cabin was secure?”
“My father always told me to do better than him, be better than him. And definitely be better than my enemies.”
“You were,” I say, absoluteness in my tone. “You are, Adrian.”
His lips tighten. “I told you—”
“You’re dirty and bad,” I supply, knowing this story already.
“Yes,” he agrees, sipping his hot chocolate. “I am.”
I could push him now, dive into the topic of Deleon, remind him he could have killed him, but the edge between us is only now fading. I decide Deleon’s a stiff topic better eased into when we too are not so, well, stiff. Instead, I ask,