She would feel this for hours.
Zoey lay there, one arm covering her eyes.
"I hate you," she mumbled.
"No, you don't."
"Okay," she breathed. "I hate that I love this."
She pulled me to kiss, as we lay on the ground, coming down. Her lips were swollen, breath shallow, fingers still clinging to me like she thought I might vanish.
I kissed her back, then rolled off onto my side. The floor under us was cold concrete, but her skin was still hot. Sweat dampened her chest. Her skirt was bunched at her hips, chains tangled under her thigh like some kind of badge. The storage room smelled like sex and old paint.
Zoey turned her face toward mine. Hair a mess. Lipstick smeared. Eyes sharp but lazy. "If you disappear after this, I will break into your house and paint your walls with dicks."
I smirked. "You threatening to graffiti May's kitchen?"
"If I do, I am leaving a rating with it. Four stars. Would scream again."
I stared up at the ceiling, shirt unbuttoned halfway, pants open, cock still twitching with aftershock. "Four stars? That was minimum a six."
"You came on my uterus like you were baptizing it," she said, wiping her thigh with the edge of my shirt. "But you still owe me a second round."
I freed my shirt from her grip and cleaned my cock on her skirt, not bothering to be gentle about it. "Get up, we need to return."
Zoey grumbled, rolling onto her side. "You are so rude after sex."
"You say that like I owe you aftercare and a blanket."
She sat up, grabbing a handful of napkins from the side crate. "I mean… we could make it a recurring event if you dropped the attitude."
"Or you could admit your art show got blessed by actual cock." I adjusted my shirt, didn't bother buttoning all the way. No point pretending I still gave a shit about the presentation. "Let's move."
She fixed her skirt, tugged her top down, and shoved her hair back with both hands. One of the silver bracelets caught in her curls. I watched her wrestle with it for a second, then turned and opened the door.
Outside, the gallery buzzed the same way it had before... fake applause, soft clinks of overpriced wine glasses, and someone trying too hard to explain an inverted urinal sculpture.
Harry spotted us immediately. He was posted near the red slash painting again, drink in hand, still surrounded by the prep school choir. He raised a brow when he saw Zoey's flushed face, then looked at me and just grinned.
[System]: Ohhh~ sugar, you just returned from the Forbidden Exhibit. Your walk? Swagger with a guilt kink. Everyone sees it. Nobody says it.
Zoey broke away and drifted back toward her section, probably to pretend she was not soaked in sweat and dick. I approached Harry.
"You are late," he said, tapping his glass against mine even though I didn't have one.
"I was doing research," I replied.
His smirk widened. "Hands-on?"
I shrugged. I may have turned into a bastard, but I don't kiss and tell.
The rest of the event passed in a lazy haze. Some rich guy tried to buy one of Zoey's canvases. She refused. Called it a "soul piece" like that meant something. The reverse spaghetti video got a standing ovation. I clapped twice, loud enough to mock.
Then the crowd started thinning, Zoey came back over, now with lipstick reapplied and eyes still half-lidded.
I leaned down, kissed her cheek. "Make sure next time is somewhere with a bed."
She whispered near my ear, "Next time, I ride you until the frame cracks."
[System]: Mmm~ threat received. Preparing pelvis reinforcement. Also, damn.
I left before the cleanup started, I hit the subway and sank into a seat.
(.)(.)
'Beans & Buns' had those dumb fairy lights outside, trying hard to be whimsical. Inside smelled like cinnamon and spilled college loans. I walked in. Darcy was already at the back table, slouched over her phone like she was battling for her soul, furiously typing. Jacket half-unzipped. One boot on the seat, like personal space was optional.
"Hey, Helper-boy," she said, waving a fork. A croissant sat half-eaten on a plate.
"Missed me?" I dropped into the seat across from her.
"I missed having leverage. Do you have my stuff or were you just flirting to inflate your ego?"
I snorted. "My ego is immune to inflation." I slid the bag across the table. "Everything is in there. Laptop, notebooks, probably a few crumbs from some NSA agent's donut too."
Darcy paused, mid-bite. Her eyes locked on the bag like it might bite her. "You are serious?"
"Open it."
She unzipped it fast. Laptop first. She flipped it open, typed a few keys, and let out a relieved hiss. "Still intact. No wipe. Thank God."
Next came the notebooks. She flipped through one, skimmed a few lines, then another. Her eyes darted back and forth, checking margins, diagrams, pages. Her fingers moved fast, nails tapping against the paper.
"Okay. You are officially dangerous. And creepy. Also maybe a little sexy," she said, not looking up.
I stole a piece of her croissant without asking. "You say that like I didn't hear it before."
She smacked my hand but didn't try to stop the theft. "You steal government property and carbs. Impressive resume."
"I multitask. Efficiently."
Darcy tilted her head. Her hair was messier now. Probably from how fast she moved when I dropped the bag. She stared at me like she was trying to figure out if I was about to ask for money, sex, or a thank-you hug.
"You want something in return?" she asked. "Or are you just collecting goodwill like it earns interest?"
I chewed the croissant slowly. "Maybe a question answered."
"That sounds worse than asking for nudes."
I swallowed. "That object that fell? You have theories. Spill."
She hesitated, glancing toward the window. Street outside was quiet. Light traffic. No feds in sight. Her eyes flicked to the cafe counter. The barista was too busy making oat milk foam to eavesdrop.
"Jane thinks it's a weapon," she said. "She also thinks it's not human. The energy spike before impact? Not natural. Too focused. Too... signature."
I raised an eyebrow. "Signature?"
"Every power source leaves a fingerprint. Gamma, nuclear, arc, even cosmic. This one had elements of all three. No source on record matches. But Jane says it's familiar. Like she has seen something close, once, during her previous research"
I hummed, tossed the last piece of croissant into my mouth. She lunged. Not for me. For the damn food. Her fingers snatched the air just a second too late. I caught her wrist. She yanked. I grabbed her elbow. Chairs scraped. Her leg slid between mine.
We tangled.
Not sexy. Not coordinated. Just two idiots almost tipping a cafe table over like we were reenacting a slapstick sitcom without the laugh track.
"Hell, woman," I muttered.
She tried to snatch her arm back. "That was the last bite!"
"It was mine."
"Not if I caught it."
"You didn't."
"You blocked me!"
"Because I like eating in peace!"
Our chairs bumped. She lost balance first. Her knee knocked mine. My hand slipped. Her weight shifted. We both went sideways.
I caught the edge of the table.
She caught my shoulder.
We froze halfway to the floor.
Darcy's face was too close now. Breath smelled like coffee and petty crime. Her hair was a mess already, but now it had crossed into full early-morning-regret territory.
"You always this annoying?" she whispered.
"You always this violent over pastry?"
She scowled, still tangled. "Only when someone steals my flaky joy."
"You need therapy."
"I need another croissant."
She sat back down, yanking her jacket straight. I fixed my hoodie, then my chair.
"I swear," she muttered, pulling a hair out of her mouth, "you are one wardrobe malfunction away from being a sidekick."
I raised an eyebrow. "I am a main character. Get it right."
She scoffed, mouth full of what crumbs she salvaged. "Main character energy from someone who still uses public Wi-Fi."
I leaned in. "You have not even thanked me for saving your data."
"You didn't save my data. You saved my dignity. Different category."
I glared, "Then a bigger thank you. Buy me ten croissants."
Darcy narrowed her eyes like she was debating whether to stab me with her fork or throw her coffee. "Ten? What the hell do you think this is, a pastry ransom?"
"You owe me. That bag had your career in it. Pay up in flaky carbs or forever live with the shame."
"You sound like a sugar dealer." She collected crumbs with her thumb, licking them off. "Fine. I will buy you ten. But you better eat them all. I want to watch you cry butter and regret."
I leaned back. "Make sure they are all different flavors. I like surprises."
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "You are the worst kind of hero."
I pointed at her plate. "You are the worst kind of scientist. Can't even protect your snacks."
She snorted a laugh, like she hated that it was happening. "This feels like the start of a very unhealthy friendship."
"Those are the best kind."
Her phone buzzed. She checked it. Her face shifted something close to panic. "Jane is asking where I am."
I finished the last crumb she missed. "Tell her you are out being productive."
Darcy rolled her eyes. "I told her I was grabbing coffee. If she finds out I met some hoodie-wearing data thief, she is going to throw me into a blacksite herself."
I pulled my hood up. "Then keep the fantasy alive. I am just a stranger with good timing and better hands."
She stood up, brushing crumbs off her lap. "That line would be hot if it didn't sound like you pickpocket for a living."
"I pick what matters."
She shook her head and started walking. "You are lucky I have a weakness for assholes."
"Most girls do."
At the door, she looked back. "Thanks. Really."
I raised two fingers in a lazy salute. "Remember that when I ask for twenty next time."
She left. I stayed, finished her coffee, and made sure to wipe the rim.
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You can read up to Chapter 85...
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