Page 115 of The Lineman

Mike arched a brow. “About what?”

I gave him a lazy grin. “You’re still taking me home.”

He let out a low groan, shaking his head. “Christ. You really are exhausted if that’s your level of flirting.”

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. “Give me a few hours of sleep and we’ll see how I do.”

Mike hummed but didn’t argue. Instead, he slipped his hand into mine, fingers curling tight as we made our way down the quiet street.

It was stupid how much that simple touch calmed me.

By the time we reached my house, I was already half asleep on my feet. I barely had the energy to unlock the door, and when I finally managed it, I turned to Mike, fully expecting him to head home.

Instead, he just stared at me, hesitating.

“You wanna stay?” I asked.

Mike blinked, like I’d just caught him off guard. “I mean—”

“Even if we just sleep,” I added, rubbing the back of my neck. “Even if we just . . . hold each other.”

The words felt dangerous, like I was saying too much. Like I was asking for too much.

Mike’s face softened as something warm flickered behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

My chest squeezed.

I led us inside, dropped my bag by the laundry room door, then swallowed hard and nodded toward the bathroom. “I need to wash Florida off my body. I probably smell like a swamp.”

Mike smirked. “More like an alligator’s ass.”

“Sexy,” I muttered.

“You wish.”

I rolled my eyes, stripping off my shirt as I walked down the hall, not even thinking about how I was stripping in front of Mike—and it wasn’t sexual.

I was just about to step into the bathroom when I heard Mike follow.

When I turned, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze running over me in a way that made my skin burn from a lot more than sunburn.

“You joining me or just here to watch?” I teased.

His smile was slow and lazy, his eyes darkening. “That depends. How awake are you?”

I exhaled sharply. “Awake enough to let you scrub my back.”

Mike didn’t hesitate.

He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the side before stepping forward, closing the distance between us.

His hands landed on my hips, fingers pressing into my skin just enough to send a sharp thrill through me. My own hands came up instinctively, sliding over his bare chest, tangling in his fur, tracing the warmth of him, the softness of his skin stretched over tight muscle.

“Shower,” he murmured, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Before Mrs. H shows up and ruins the mood.”

I snorted. “She’s probably staring in the den window. She might even have cameras in here somewhere.”

---