Page 26

June stills beside me.

Dammit. I overstepped. I clear my throat, trying to figure out how to smooth this over.

“You should probably find a less obvious place to hide your key,” I say quietly, hiding the disgust I have for the blatant lie, but she returns the smile slowly.

She plucks the key from my hand, her eyes still too narrow for my liking.

I push a hand through my hair. God, I’m fucking this up.

Establishing trust is a pretty clear directive when dealing with potential assets, and I’m shit at it. Especially when all I can think about areherassets.

She clears her throat, unlocking the door before stepping inside and flicking the switch, illuminating her small house.

I know the layout, but habit makes me assess the exits anyway. The front door we stepped through. Two windows in the bedroom to my right. The kitchen in front of me, leading out to a back porch and those stairs lead down to the dock and the boat. And another window in the small half-bath directly to my left.

“I’m uh, I’m going to go uh, freshen up. Um, make yourself at home.” June fidgets with the top button of her shirt. Causing my eyes to dive to the silky column of her neck, the curve of her collarbone. The lush expanse of breasts.

“Okay if I make you a sandwich? Or something? That protein bar won’t be enough.” I cross my arms, trying to slow my heartrate. Something about being here, in her house, with her looking like that, with the damp shirt clinging to her curves.

She cocks her head, eyes wide. “Yeah, okay.” Her gaze dips to her bedroom, and her smile turns slightly suggestive.

Does she think I want to hook up?

I can play that part. It would be all too easy to play that part.

I school my face, internally shaking the thoughts away, making myself focus. This isn’t about the way she looks, the way her house feels less like a front and more like a home.

Shifting on my feet, I take a deep breath and June exhales, sending a wisp of hair flying around her face. It lands on her nose, and it makes her twitch adorably.

Surprising myself, I reach forward, tucking it behind her ear. My hand grazes her cheek, and she shivers the tiniest bit.

Yeah, I can definitely play this part.

I lean in, her focus dropping to my mouth. A pink tongue darts out as she licks her lips. I’m so close now, all I’d have to do is lean down to steal a kiss.

My hand lingers at her neck. I can’t do it.

I shouldn’t do it.

Thankfully, she ducks away.

At least, I think I’m thankful.

“I’ll uh, I’ll be right back. There’s bread in the pantry. Help yourself to whatever.”

Disappointment and relief war in my chest, but I stand taller, rubbing a hand down my face.

She disappears into the bedroom, and I catch a glimpse of white linens and bare floors, clean save for a hot pink bra strewn across the bed.

I turn on my heel as her bedroom door closes with a click and head to the pantry. The kitchen light hums overhead when I flick the light switch. The pantry’s full of pristine labeled baskets. Every snack is organized by type and color. My eyebrows lift in surprise.

It appeals to the military part of me that craves order a little too much for my own comfort.

I grab what I need and turn to the fridge, and blink in an effort to take it in.

Nearly every square inch is covered in maps. Old and current calendars and tide timetables compete for space.

I lean in, the sandwiches momentarily forgotten.