All I can do is press my forehead to hers, kissing her softly, trying to soothe the ache he’s left behind.
“Later, baby,” brushing my thumb over her cheek. “We’ll give you everything. I promise.”
She whimpers, caught between need and frustration, and my heart nearly bursts from it. God, I want her.
The movie plays on, some interstellar battle flashing across the screen, but the only thing that matters is her.
By the time we pull into her building’s lot, Haven’s laughter has faded into a soft hum.
She’d been teasing Tate all the way back to the car, replaying how he tripped over the curb right after he tried to act cool in front of a group of teenagers leaving the theater.
Tate’s quiet in the back, probably pretending not to watch her smile in the reflection.
I ease the SUV into a spot, she leans halfway out the rolled-down window before I’ve even finished parking, squinting. “Carter, did you seriously just park in my spot?”
I kill the engine, wincing but not exactly guilty. “Technically? It was o—”
“Technically,” she cuts in, turning toward me with that raised-brow look that could stop my heart, “so was the fire lane.”
I can’t help the grin that pulls at my mouth. “Which I didn’t park in.”
She huffs, crossing her arms. Tate snorts in the back seat. “You thought about it,” she mutters, grabbing her bag.
Before I can respond, Tate is out of the car. He rounds to her side, pulling open the door with a mocking bow. “After you, pretty.”
I rush around to the other side, yanking open the driver door at the same time. She stops in the middle, staring at us both, deadpan. “Did you two rehearse this?”
“Team effort,” I say proudly.
“Shared brain cell,” Tate adds with a snort.
Her groan carries all the way up the stairs, but I see the smile tugging at her lips as she slides out between us, hips brushing mine, fingers trailing up Tate’s arm as she walks toward her apartment.
She unlocks the door and swings it open, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m gonna eat. I’m gonna bathe. And one of you is gonna keep me company while I do it.”
Tate raises a brow. “In the bath?”
I glance at him, and for a second, neither of us says a word. It’s that twin look, part challenge, partdon’t you dare.
God I love it when she’s bossy, way too much. Every time she takes control like that, my brain short-circuits. I can pretend it’s the teasing that gets me, or the way she always knows exactly what she wants—but it’s her tone. That quiet authority that makes me want to give her anything she asks for.
I drag my eyes away before Tate catches the look on my face. He probably knows anyway.
Haven disappears toward the kitchen, flipping the light on as she goes. “Don’t start a fight while I’m gone, you two.”
“Not like we could,” Tate says plopping onto the couch.
I chuckle, nudging him. “Yeah, you’d just lose anyway.”
He snorts, scrolling through his phone. “Maybe. Depends on what the stakes are.”
The sound of running water starts a few minutes later, Tate’s still going through his phone like he’s not thinking about what she said. I last maybe thirty seconds before I give up pretending I’m not.
I head down the hall, the air grows warmer with each step, steam curling from under the bathroom door. I knock softly, knuckles against wood.
“Come in,” she calls.
I ease the door open carefully. The scent of her soap hits first and suddenly every thought I had on the way here is gone. The candle she lit smells like vanilla and chaos—her, basically and her hair’s piled into a loose, damp mess on top of her head. Her eyes open lazily when I step in.