Page 94 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
“I’m just…” I search for the right word. “Soaking it in. And trying not to laugh too hard at Theo’s expense.”
Theo smirks. “Thank you. At least someone respects me.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I tease, and his smirk cracks into a grin.
The conversation drifts on—teasing, old stories—and the fire sinks lower, glowing embers turning the air into a wavy shimmer. My heat stirs with it, coaxed alive by every shift in their scents—Dane’s grounding, Theo’s sharp focus, Jamie’s dark edge. Each one distinct, each one catching inside me like a hook.
I lean back slightly, and Dane shifts with me, steady as stone, his hand braced just behind me on the blanket—not quite touching, but close enough that warmth seeps across the inch of space between us. On my other side, Jamie stretches out, his blanket pulled loose, his gaze a slow drag over me that makes my pulse jump.
“Cold?” he asks, though the look in his eyes tells me he doesn’t buy my answer either way.
“A little,” I lie.
His mouth quirks. “Then come here.”
Before I can think of a protest, he pulls the blanket wider, and I find myself tucked between them. The heat of their bodies sinks into me at once—solid, steady, almost overwhelming in its closeness. My skin prickles, my heat rising to the surface, answering their nearness without my permission.
Across the fire, Theo arches a brow. “Cozy enough now?”
“Very,” I murmur, smiling into my mug to hide how my body is already betraying me.
We sit like that awhile, wrapped in the night—the crackle of fire, the sigh of wind, the rustle of leaves. My awareness sharpens with every breath: the steady brush of Dane’s shoulder against mine, Jamie’s slow breathing at my other side, the layered mix of their scents filling the air and curling around me like invisible arms.
I tilt my head back, eyes on the stars, sharp and endless. “You ever feel like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be?”
Jamie’s voice is low, almost reverent. “Right now?”
“Yes. Here. With all of you.”
Dane’s hand brushes mine beneath the blanket, fingers curling over mine—quiet, steady. Across the fire, Theo’s expression softens, and though he doesn’t move, his gaze rests on me like a touch of its own.
The fire sinks to coals, its glow steady and deep. Jamie adjusts the blanket to cover us better. Dane leans forward to settle another log on the embers. Theo stays apart, but his eyes keep coming back to us, like he’s committing the moment to memory.
The talk softens, drifts. Favorite foods. Summer skies. Winter storms. Jamie’s grin when he says his favorite is this—fire, night air, company—sends another pulse of warmth through me that has nothing to do with the flames.
At some point, my mug empties and my limbs grow heavy. I shift without thinking, leaning harder into Dane, curling toward Jamie. Neither of them pulls away. If anything, they close in tighter, a shield on both sides.
The warmth isn’t just from the fire anymore. It’s in my blood, humming low and insistent. And as I sit there, the stars wheeling above us, I know I’ll carry this with me. Because this—this laughter, this blanket, this impossible, perfect sense of belonging—is something I’ll burn to keep.
Chapter seventy-three
Cam
The coals have settled into a low red glow, a quiet galaxy in the pit. The night leans close around us—pine-cool, star-bright—and the blanket has become a small universe where it’s just breath and warmth and the slow rise and fall of three chests around me.
It starts like a tide turning.
A curl of heat wakes under my skin, nothing sharp at first—just awareness. The brush of Dane’s sleeve at my shoulder is suddenly the only thing I can feel. Jamie shifts the blanket higher and the back of his knuckles skims my thigh, and my breath hitches. Across the embers, Theo is a long line of shadow and gold, watching the coals like he’s reading a story there, and when his gaze lifts to me, the ember inside brightens.
“Are you alright?” Jamie asks, voice thick with sleep.
I swallow. “Warm. Too warm,” I admit, and the word means more than temperature.
Jamie’s smile tilts, soft with understanding. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Tell us what helps.”
Dane’s hand doesn’t quite touch mine under the blanket; he offers it, palm up, waiting. I lay my fingers in his and feel the gentle press of his thumb at my pulse, counting my heartbeat for a breath, then two. Theo eases around the fire, slow and unhurried, until he’s kneeling where the light can catch his eyes.
“No rushing,” he says, voice low. “We follow you.”
