Page 3 of Sloth
Delivery.Yes.
She hopped from her seat, almost tripped on a fallen bathrobe, an empty packet of Skittles and a few other items she’d failed to put away since the housekeeper had been there.
Sloan lifted the window pane. The sound of traffic blasted in, and a wall of heat slammed into her face, making her stagger. Whoa.Yeah, that heat.Sweat prickled her skin and dampened her camisole. She also wore boy-short undies and knee-length socks but, hell, it was hot. She retrieved the pizza box—thank you pizza drone—from her landing and retreated to the icy comfort of her apartment.
A meow came from outside and a black cat with white feet launched onto the metal landing.
“Luna,” she muttered. “You shouldn’t be out there. Come in and have some pizza.”
Once the cat scampered in, she shut the window, letting the cooling system do its job.
Glancing down, five levels below to the busy Cardinal City street, the entrance to Nightingale Securities gleamed in the afternoon sun. A small modest place, it housed not only Max, but a collection of ex-military orphans looking for a purpose now their official gig was up.
Turning, she lifted the box lid and wafted steam into her face.Mmm. Ham. Cheese. Best thing ever.
Wait a minute.
Pineapple. On her pizza. Gag. She had deliberately ordered it without.
Max had loved pineapple on his pizza. The great pineapple debate had raged between them for five years, since they’d met during an online gaming tournament. She’d always said that if,when, they’d met in real life, she would shove that pineapple up his ass. He’d always said he’d find a way to make her love it. She would reply that she already loved his ass, and on it went. Of course, being an online relationship, they’d never physically been in the same room to make the other eat the aforementioned pineapple or touch said asses.
Never been in a room together until two months ago.
Suddenly, she frowned at the pineapple with suspicion. Could Max somehow have changed her pizza order to include the pineapple?
Nah.
Sloan picked a piece of pineapple and held it to Luna as she made her way back to her computer desk.
“Here you go, ladyface. All yours.”
The cat scrambled after her. She lifted onto her hind legs and nibbled the fruit from Sloan’s fingers.
“Let’s go see how our thermostat is doing.”
With a wicked grin, she settled into her desk chair and watched the monitor. The camera angled from behind Max on the ceiling, giving her a view of his entire office floor. Four desks with computers, a couch in the corner. Fridge. Kitchenette. That even looked like a flat screen hooked to a gaming console. He was alone in the room. The rest of his staff must be on assignment.
Max’s tawny hair had gone dark around his face—stuck down with sweat. He had that sun-kissed surfer look about him which was understandable. He was from Australia, had lived by the beach and surfed throughout the year when not on tour with his regiment. His perpetual bronzed tan was now turning red, but good ol’ Maxie-boy wasn’t retreating to a cooler place. Nope, the man continued to stare at his computer.
With the thrill of the chase licking up her spine, Sloan checked the temperature. One-oh-four degrees. She chuckled and took a bite of pizza. A chunk fell and landed on her stomach. She glanced down and grimaced at the pudgy pale flesh poking out from beneath her camisole and underwear. Frowning, she flicked the chunk off for the cat, and then returned her attention to the screen.
Any minute now he was going to lose his shit.
“Fuck you, Maxie-Pad.”
A ping on her cell made her jump. Six siblings lived in her building, and without a doubt, one of them was constantly in her hair. It was a message from her brother Wyatt. Today, it was his turn to harass her. She’d missed her last two martial arts training sessions with him. The man had been on a relentless crusade to get her back into shape. At the start it had been awesome. She really did need the extra motivation. But now…
The phone pinged again. She ignored it, instead, settling in to watch the Max Show.
Max fanned his hand in front of his face. He got out of his chair and went to the fridge to pull out a can of soda. Huh. Would you look at that. Diet.Since when did he drink diet?
Another ping sounded in her periphery, but her eyes were glued to the screen, watching Max’s brawny but graceful body as he tipped his head back, chugging the drink. His throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Sweat ran down his temples, but he didn’t leave in a huff. No. He went back to his damned desk and continued to work.
“AIMI,” she asked slyly.
“Yes, Sloan,”came the feminine computer voice from speakers hard-wired into her apartment ceiling.
“What’s the highest external temperature a human can sustain before receiving permanent internal damage?”
