Page 18 of From Air

Warmth floods my body, reaching my toes and the tips of my tingling fingers that ache to curl into his flesh. If he lets go of me, I might pass out from this lightheadedness.

The toilet flushes, and thirty seconds later, Will or Maren exits the bathroom. When we hear the distant click of a shutting door, Fitz releases me.

“Thanks for worrying about me,” he murmurs.

I take a step back and pump my fists to get a little feeling back into my hands, but I don’t look at him. “Of course,” I say with my sweetest voice, too sweet.

I need him to question my sincerity the way he makes me question his.

I need to get a grip and shut this shit down.

I need . . . an orgasm.

“Nighty night, Fitz.” I scrounge every last bit of confidence in my body and blow him an exaggerated kiss.

His lips part in the dim light, brow tight. And that’s how I know he feels it (whatever it is) too.

Thiscannothappen.

Chapter Seven

CALVIN

I can’t relax in my own home.

Am I to blame? Sure. But this is getting ridiculous. Jamie’s taking “revenge is best served cold” to a new level, and she’s using her body and my attraction to her as new weapons.

It’s been a month since she threw down the gauntlet in the kitchen and two weeks since the bedroom incident. I’m mentally wiped from sleeping with one eye open. Is she going to deflate my tires? Short-sheet my bed? Put plastic over the toilet? Remove all the labels from my cans in the pantry? Or seduce me so we get kicked out of the house?

“Fitz, here are your clothes from the dryer. I’ve folded them for you. I’ll set them on your bed and hang your shirts so they won’t need to be ironed,” Jamie announces in a honeyed voice while toting a laundry basket up the stairs in her usual weekend leggings, pink fuzzy socks, and oversize sweater.

“Dude ...” Will drags out the word without taking his eyes off his game. “Are you sleeping with her? You’d better stay out of her pants, or Maren and I will fight over who’s going to kill you. It’s a rule. A hard line that can’t be crossed.”

I keep my head bowed to my phone. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because she’s been cordial to you—dare I say flat-out thoughtful? If you’re not giving her regular orgasms, then it makes no sense.”

“Sometimes I do push-ups in the kitchen and let her watch.”

“You’re an idiot.” Will laughs.

“Maybe she’s more magnanimous than we give her credit for.”

Will grunts his skepticism.

He’s not wrong about Jamie. Not only has she failed to retaliate, she’s been outright generous to me. It’s disturbing. My distrust grows exponentially every day.

“Fitz, I noticed one of your shirts has a missing button,” Jamie chirps, skipping down the stairs. She has entirely too much bounce in her step for a Sunday afternoon. It’s unnatural. “I can find a button and mend it for you.”

Will snorts. “Jamie, Fitz spends most of the winter at a sewing machine when he’s not down south. I’m sure he can sew on a button.”

“I’m not following.” Jamie stops behind my chair and tucks in my tag.

I stiffen when her warm, delicate fingers brush my nape. What the fuck? She’s softening me up for the kill.

I despise her method of revenge. She makes mehardand soft at the same time.

“Smoke jumpers make their gear and repair their parachutes,” Will informs her before tossing his remote aside and grumbling about the game.

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