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Chapter fifteen

Nate

It’s quiet when I step inside. Not peaceful. Just… still.

Tossing my keys in the bowl by the door, I toe off my sneakers and glance around. The living room glows with the soft amber light of the floor lamp. My stomach growls, but I stop cold when I spot her.

Mandy.

Curled up on the couch, one arm draped over her notes, her head resting on a throw pillow, lips parted slightly like she fell asleep mid-thought. She’s wearing one of those soft cotton Acers T-shirts she stole from my closet and those tiny sleep shorts that should be illegal.

I stand there like an idiot, watching her breathe.

My chest tightens.

She shifts slightly, a soft sound escaping her throat, and I step closer. Her highlighter is still clutched loosely in one hand, her laptop screen dimmed beside her. There are color-coded tabs in a law book on the floor.

Of course she studied herself to sleep.

I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and lean down to drape it over her. She stirs, blinking slowly, her lashes fluttering as she registers me.

"Nate?"

"Yeah, it's me. You passed out cold. Thought I should cover you up."

She yawns, then smiles sleepily. "You always come home this late?"

"Late night’s just part of the job, and sometimes, a guy needs a few hours away from the noise to remember who the hell he is."

She shifts again, this time sitting up slightly. The blanket falls around her shoulders.

"Where were you?"

"Team thing. Post-dinner drinks. Dillon tried to do karaoke. I left before he started serenading the waitress."

Her mouth curves. "Coward."

"No, smart man."

She laughs, but it turns into a shiver. Without thinking, I sit down beside her. The blanket brushes my thigh.

She leans into me.

That’s all it takes.

Her body fits against mine like it was made to. Warm and soft and mine, at least right now.

My hand lifts to brush the hair from her face. "You should get to bed."

"I was cozy on the couch. I studied here since you weren't home."

"You'll be cozier in my bed."

She glances up, teasing. "Is that an invitation, Jones?"

My hand settles at her waist, fingers brushing bare skin where her shirt has ridden up. "Not if you’re gonna keep calling me Jones."

She leans in, her nose brushing mine. "What if I call you Captain Handsy?"