Words failed me, which was a truly embarrassing twist. This was flirting. I was almost positive. My body couldn’t decide if it should run or launch itself at him.

  At one point, I tried to help him slot the side rail into place. Metal bracket, then bolt. My hands shook, and the thing slipped, which would have been embarrassing except Kane slid in behind me, reached around, and steadied my grip.

  His hand covered mine. His breath hit my nape, warm and sweet from the coffee.

  He didn’t pull back.

  “Twist it here and hold.” His lips brushed my ear, just enough to make me forget what I was supposed to be doing.

  Somehow, the rail snapped in perfectly. He left his fingers on my wrist a beat longer than necessary.

  I straightened and immediately smashed my knee into a box. “Definitely not an engineer,” I muttered.

  Kane’s laugh rolled out, deep and rich. “You’re doing fine.”

  Next came slats. Those were easier. Just slot-and-click. The mattress, though, was a full two-person lift.

  Kane flipped it with one arm, then reached for the far corner. Our hands collided at the same spot, fingers tangling. He squeezed, not letting go.

  “That end’s heavier,” he said, which was untrue, but it made me grin.

  Finally, with the bed set, Kane dropped down and patted the mattress. “Looks good enough to sleep on now.”

  He looked up at me, then patted the spot beside him.

  I flopped down, heart in my throat, feeling my pulse everywhere but where it belonged. The bed creaked but held steady. Kane scooted closer. I could smell his cologne now. Something green, fresh, and faintly sharp.

  Boxes still crowded the walls, but the space felt smaller, more intimate, now that we’d conquered the main event.

  Kane cracked his knuckles. “You’re stronger than you look.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “Otherwise, those cookies are going to put me out of commission by New Year’s.”

  He grinned, then rolled off the bed and pointed at the nearest box. “Books. You still good to help?”

  “If I say no, do I lose my cookie privileges?”

  “You’d lose a lot more than that.” His eyes sparkled, his voice lower.

  That should not have short-circuited me as much as it did.

  We dug into the rest of the boxes, side by side. Four, five, maybe a dozen cardboard cartons. Kane’s tastes ran to old books, art supplies, and a couple of baseball gloves that looked properly broken in.

  There were photos, too. His granddad and a younger dude I figured was Kane, plus a few tacked together with magnets on the mini-fridge. Kane lined up the books by color, then by type, every now and then pausing to ask if I’d read anything by a particular author.

  I always pretended I had.

  He folded his things precisely but didn’t fuss if I jammed hangers or wrinkled a sleeve. He didn’t fill the silence. Just handed me shirts, pants, and random memorabilia.

  Sometimes, Kane touched my arm. Once, our heads bumped reaching for the same lamp cord. Each time, the warmth lingered, traveling through me.

  It became the most natural thing in the world to lean against him on the couch when we needed a break, legs tangled, sharing cookies straight from the plate.

  He moved a box filled with more books with one arm, barely straining. I nearly threw my back out trying to get the same box across the carpet.

  Kane didn’t make fun of me, just raised a brow and watched me struggle. When I dropped the box, he caught it before it hit my toes. His hand landed on my hip, steadying me.

  “Careful,” he said, voice low. “Told you already you gotta be gentle with yourself.”

  By the time the sun vanished behind a wall of slate-grey clouds, the place was transformed. Kane’s bed was made, books lined up, and art prints hung.

  The only evidence of the earlier chaos was a stack of crushed boxes by the front door.

  We stood there, side by side, admiring our work. Kane nudged my shoulder, eyes dark, smile lazy. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Says the guy who did all the heavy lifting.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. You kept things fun.” His hand brushed the small of my back.

  My heart hammered. For once, the urge to bolt didn’t win.

  Kane bent, slow and unhurried, until our faces were inches apart. His hand found my jaw, thumb pressing under my chin.

  I didn’t move. Couldn’t. His nose bumped mine.

  Warm lips pressed against mine. The spark was real, electric, melting rational thought and leaving just need. I made a noise that sounded a lot like hunger.

  He kissed me again, deeper now, tongue teasing the seam. I opened for him, hands braced on his shoulders, and let him take control.

  The world narrowed to that moment. The taste of his mouth. The strength in his hands. I wanted more. I wanted everything.

  Kane drew back, lips curving. “Been wanting to do that since I saw you that first night.”

  “Yeah?” My voice came out ragged. “Since G-69?”

  He laughed, tugged me in again, and kissed me until my knees nearly buckled.

  His eyes looked even warmer than before, gold and green and a little unsteady, like I’d surprised him.

  “You’re better at that than building furniture,” I managed.

  “Lucky for you,” he replied.

  We sat in the bedroom, one of his hands still on my ass, my heart pounding so hard I was surprised he didn’t call a medic.

  I didn’t want to move, but eventually his phone buzzed in his back pocket. He ignored it.

  “You ever play laser tag?” Kane’s voice was lighter, not quite a dare but not casual either.

  I blinked. “Uh. No? Closest I ever got was a haunted house. I ran into a wall and broke my plastic sword. Not exactly a tactical genius.”

  He laughed, the sound rolling through me. “My cousin just opened a place up in Eagle Rock. You’d kill it. Team up with me.”

  “Only if there’s pizza,” I said.

  He kissed my cheek, his stubble burning a little, then smirked. “That’s mandatory. They do garlic knots, too.”

  I nodded, feeling weirdly bold. “Bet you ten bucks I last longer than you in the arena.”

  “Loser has to buy dinner,” he countered.

  Was I imagining it, or did his hand squeeze at my waist?

  Fuck it. I leaned in and kissed him again. Planted one right on his mouth, letting my tongue linger, then pulled back with a grin. “Bet.”

  * * * *

  I still couldn’t believe I was doing this. Wasn’t sure when my life had gone from “sadly single with a calendar full of early-bed bingo” to “riding shotgun in a hot guy’s SUV on a Friday night, powered by adrenaline and baked goods.” But here we were.

  Laser tag.

  Outside, rain polished the city into a shimmer, droplets streaking down car windows. The sky had looked like wet newspaper all day. Wind rattled the trees, and every few blocks, streetlights cast blurry halos through the drizzle.

  I was grateful for the heat pumping from the vents. From the way Kane kept glancing over, he either wanted to check if I’d melt in the rain or if I’d make out with him before we made it to the parking lot.

  He still had powdered sugar on his sleeve. I didn’t mention it, but I noticed.

  Kane adjusted the gearshift and gave me a glance and a crooked smile. “Ready to see if the legend is true?”

  I traced a finger along the window, watching the trails of water snake down through grime. “Is the legend that you’re going to get your ass kicked or that I’ll trip over my own shoelaces in a dark room?”

  He let out a huff of laughter, not quite a full-on laugh but enough to make his shoulders shake. “I’m betting on the first but only because I like surprising people.”

  Kane drove the way he walked. Relaxed, but you got the feeling he could slam the accelerator and take a tight curve any time he felt like it. I tried not to stare, but every time he adjusted the wheel, a muscle flexed in his forearm.

  “My cousin’s expecting us,” he said. “Decent guy. Not as good at laser tag as he thinks.”

  “Did you warn him you’re bringing a ringer?”

  Kane slid me a playful look. “You a ringer?”

  I shrugged, watching the rain slide sideways against the passenger window. “Only if falling over obstacles is a recognized strategy.”

  He laughed, short, easy. “Could work.”

  We pulled up to the laser tag place—a low-slung concrete building with a mural painted on the side. Something about neon aliens and half-melted planets. Classic. The parking lot was half full, puddles coating the asphalt so the reflections danced each time headlights swept past.

  He killed the engine. The parking lot lights turned the raindrops on his windshield into diamonds. I waited for him to say something sappy.

  Instead, he opened his door and met me around the front, umbrella already out, like he’d actually planned it.

  Kane parked close enough that my socks barely had time to soak through on the walk to the front. He opened his umbrella, sharing it until we got under the awning. His hand found the small of my back, not quite subtle, not exactly a declaration.

  Inside, “Galactic Arena” was a different planet. The lobby pulsed with blacklights and that weird ozone-y smell that meant cheap plastic and overexcited kids had done permanent damage to the carpet.

  Kane’s cousin had gone full Star Wars with the signage. There were glow-in-the-dark letters everywhere, arcade games, and a claw machine against the back wall, plus a snack bar already stacked with garlic knots and, I swear, a pizza box almost as big as my torso.

  His cousin ran the counter. He didn’t look anything like Kane but greeted us like we were long-lost brothers. “Yo! Took you long enough. This your friend?”

  “Yeah.” Kane’s voice changed when he said it. Not embarrassed but more than casual. He sounded almost…proud. “Elijah, meet Joe.”

  Joe gave me a real handshake, none of that limp-fish stuff. His fingers were stained with pizza grease, and he wore a HyperZone staff shirt and a name badge that said, “Ask Me About My Lasers.”

  He sized me up but not in a mean way. More like he was figuring out how to set the phasers for our level of coolness. “You ever played?”

  I shook my head. “My only experience is getting murdered in Fortnite by twelve-year-olds. How do you feel about lost causes?”

  Joe grinned. “We love ’em. I’ll set it up. You guys want a private round?”

  “Definitely,” Kane said, looking at me. “Best way to learn.”

  I would have melted if my feet weren’t already sticking to the mystery-stained carpet.

  We were handed vests that reeked of plastic and post-adolescent sweat. I tried not to gag. Kane already had his half buttoned by the time I figured out which way was up. I fumbled, face probably red, but he stepped in to help. He buckled the last strap, knuckles bumping my ribs. His breath stirred the hair by my ear.

  “You’re set,” he murmured, gaze lingering. He didn’t move away. Heat prickled down my arms.

  Joe led us down a corridor with fake alien graffiti and doors labeled things like “Armory” and “Warp Core.” I had no clue what I’d signed up for, but my pulse was going double-time.

  “Teams or free-for-all?” Joe asked, grinning.

  “Teams,” Kane said. “Elijah’s with me.”

  I shot him a look. I’d been joking about being a ringer. If he was counting on my skills, we were dead meat. He would probably never speak to me again if his legend status was downgraded by teaming with me.

  He shrugged, amused. “Gotta play smart.”

  We got our laser guns and ducked through a blast door into the arena proper. Instantly, the world shrank to a black-lit haze with piles of neon crates, walls painted with weird planets, and the sweet, sticky smell of pizza sauce. Somewhere, bass-heavy music thumped through the speakers.

  Joe vanished like a gremlin. Kane was already scanning for targets, hand at the small of my back, steering us along a corridor.

  “Stick close,” he said. “Joe has a mean streak.”

  Kind of hoped Kane did too.

  We crept between stacks of crates and mirrored plastic pillars. My shoes squeaked. Sweat broke out along my hairline, though it was freezing in here. Every now and then, Kane’d press an arm to my side, guiding me. His hand was absurdly steady.

  I kept waiting to get hit, but we darted from cover to cover, my heart hammering. Behind the barriers, I caught Kane’s grin, teeth bright in the darkness. Smelled his cologne, warm and green, and the tang of ozone where the lasers snapped.

  Joe was nowhere. Or everywhere. Twice I heard his laugh echo off the plastic walls, then a zap of red light narrowly missed me.

  Kane barked out a soft “move!” and we scrambled behind a barrel, knees knocking.

  “You’re surprisingly fast,” he said.

  Not sure I’d ever run this much in my life. “Maybe I’m motivated.”

  He looked at me, really looked, then his lips curved again. He was killing me with that sexy smile. If he wanted us to win, he had to stop hijacking my brain.

  We played like it was life or death. I was better than I expected, popping out of cover, squeezing the trigger, and actually managing to hit Joe enough times that he yelled “bullshit!” at least twice. Kane laughed every time my hit counter went up. I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh, too. The deeper we got into the maze, the easier it was to forget everything else.

  Once, Kane and I crashed behind the same panel. Our shoulders jammed together, breaths tangled. He looked at me, close enough that I could count the gold flecks in his eyes.

  “You’re killing it,” he said.

  My hair clung damp to my forehead. “Might be my calling.”

  The next round, we went straight predator. Kane pointed to the far end of the room, and we surprised Joe by flanking him at once. I nailed Joe with a triple shot, and Kane whooped, grabbing me in a fast, tight hug, catching me off-balance and making me stumble against his side.

  We won by a landslide.

  Joe howled and accused Kane of cheating, but Kane just grinned and patted my back. “Told you he’d kill it.” His arm lingered around my hip this time, pulling me a little closer.

  On the way back to the lobby, he steered me past Joe, who muttered something about “freaking ringer” again, but he winked at me, all pride and no bite.

  Kane’s hand didn’t leave me until we peeled out of the vests. My T-shirt stuck to my side, sweat cooling in the artificial air. I wiped my face, aware of Kane’s gaze dragging down my body in a way that made my knees feel like they’d been hit with a stun gun.

  We sat at the bar, elbows touching. Pizza arrived in a greasy box, with thin crust and plenty of pepperoni, plus garlic knots soaked in butter.

  The smells were intoxicating. Cheese, tomato, yeast, garlic. My stomach rumbled. Kane loaded my plate before I could make a show of pretending I ate dainty portions. Made sure to give me the biggest knot in the basket.

  I dug in, not caring if I looked feral. Years of eating salads alone at my desk had not prepared me for the pleasure of being watched, admired, while I stuffed pizza into my mouth. Kane looked delighted. Joe kept up a stream of commentary about flagrant cheating and terrible luck, but most of it went right past me. My cup of Diet Coke sweated on the Formica. Kane drank cola, too, but kept his focus on me.

  Every time he laughed it zipped right through me. Each time his leg brushed mine under the cheap table I pretended not to notice, but my body had zero chill.

  I wiped my fingers on a napkin. “So…this still part of the competition?”

  “Only if you want it to be.”

  He was so confident, so at ease, and somehow, that made me want to lean closer. If I did, I got the sense he’d let me.

  After that, everything blurred together. Kane paid for dinner. Joe shook my hand again and gave Kane a weird wink I didn’t want to think about. The night pressed against the glass, the rain heavier now and the parking lot shining like oil paint.

  Made me feel sleepy, wet, and giddy.

  Kane held the door for me, hand at my waist. His touch was gentle, even as he nudged me toward the SUV. Once inside, I slumped back in the seat, exhaustion creeping up my legs. I barely remember pulling onto the highway, but I do remember the feel of Kane’s fingers brushing mine, then finding my hand and holding it.

  Not casual or fleeting. A solid grip, his thumb tracing circles along the top of my hand.

  I could’ve pretended to be awake, but it was safer to pretend I hadn’t noticed. My body buzzed from adrenaline, but my brain was running on fumes.

  * * * *

  Back at our building, the rain had slowed to a mist. Streetlights glowed on wet pavement. I blinked awake, still blurry and disoriented but happy. Kane parked in the garage and put the SUV in Park. For a moment, neither of us moved.

  “You want to come up?” he asked.

  I could’ve gone home, but my limbs didn’t want to move away from him. “Yeah. Sure.”

  We took the tiny humming elevator, harsh with fluorescent lighting, but he didn’t let go of my hand until we reached his floor. He unlocked his apartment, and I stepped inside.

  The space was better than before. Rain tapped at the windows. Warm lights edged the ceiling, illuminating the tree in the corner with a soft golden glow. The boxes were mostly gone. The kitchen was dark except for an under-cabinet strip of LEDs, turning everything subtle and expensive-looking.

  Kane tossed his keys on the counter. “You want a drink?”

  “No thanks,” I said. “I’ll crash if I do.”

  He grinned, then shrugged out of his jacket and dropped it onto a side chair. “Couch duty, then.”

  He slouched onto the broad-backed couch, patting the seat beside him. I followed, sinking into the cushions. The fabric was soft, broken-in but not scratchy. He clicked on the TV with the remote, some comfort-food sitcom playing at low volume. My eyes kept drifting closed.

  Kane’s arm found my shoulders. Not heavy. Not forcing. Just…there.