Page 2 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

Lana. “Alana the Piranha,” she and Morgan called her, and the bite marks that regularly peeked around the edges of Angie’s hemline were proof the nickname was appropriate.

She didn’t want to think about Lana, especially when her best friend and last Lana buffer had officially moved out.

She had a sudden premonition she would be spending a lot of time in her room alone.

Friend. Roommate . That was all Angie wanted, and so that was all Stevie would be.

If Angie suspected the effect her words had had on Stevie, she didn’t say anything.

Stevie was used to this. Everyone else seemed to know how she felt about Angie.

Angie had to know too, and since she’d done nothing to act upon it, the logical conclusion was that she didn’t feel the same.

Stevie was willing to accept this. She wasn’t about to lose one of her dearest friends over something as trivial as a broken heart.

Not that her heart was broken. Just . . . bruised. A bit like the bruises Lana left.

Hoping to shed these inconvenient thoughts, she searched for a conversation topic. “Well, at least we each get our own bathroom now.”

“Yeah.”

Stevie waited for her to say something more, studying Angie out of her peripheral vision. If her peripheral vision could commit crimes against her conscience, it could at least help her out when she needed it.

Angie was no longer humming. Her posture remained relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other out the window, but the knuckles of her right hand were white where they gripped the steering wheel, and there was something inexplicably sad about the way the wind blew those loosened strands of hair across her face.

Life enjoyed fucking with Angie. She’d known this ever since she was small, though she hadn’t had the language for it then.

Now that she did, part of her wished she could go back to that youthful ignorance, choosing a wordless, confused scream instead of trying to articulate to herself all the reasons she couldn’t have what she wanted.

What—or rather, who—she wanted currently stared back at her with the same flummoxed expression Angie felt on her own face. Sitting in the living room felt weird .

“Ew,” said Stevie. “I don’t like this.”

“It shouldn’t feel different,” Angie agreed. “Why does it feel different?”

“Maybe because Morgan is six feet of bad attitude and the space doesn’t know what to do without her shouting ‘Stevie, we’re going to be late,’ as if I’m the one who slows us down in the morning.”

“So, you’re going to miss her, is what you’re saying?” Angie reached a foot across the couch and prodded Stevie’s thigh.

“Absolutely not.”

“Uh huh.” She smiled at Stevie’s failure to dissemble. “At least there will only be one person stealing my food now.”

“Does that mean you won’t make double batches of things anymore?” Stevie’s eyes widened with horror. “You have to plant extra for the wildlife, Ange. It’s called environmentalism.”

“You are not a bear.”

Stevie growled and scratched at Angie’s leg in mock predation.

Angie kicked her gently, but the sensation of Stevie’s nails on her bare calf, even in play, sent a shock wave of desire up to the roots of her hair.

She tucked her leg underneath her. To hide her suddenly pounding heart, she waved at the dark television screen.

“Wanna watch something?” Something, anything—she couldn’t sit here without a distraction from her body’s inconvenient needs. “You choose. I’ll make popcorn.”

She stood, tossing the remote to Stevie, who caught it with a grin, saying, “Feeding bears now?”

“Keep up that analogy and you’ll have to watch me eat a whole bowl to myself while you don’t get any.

” She didn’t wait to hear Stevie’s protests.

The kitchen was divided from the living room only by an island counter, but it was a division.

Once there, she rested her hands on the sink and looked out into the evening.

Light lingered above the horizon, a pale ghost of the sun haunting the deepening blue.

Slowly her breathing steadied, and her pulse steadied with it.

Stevie.

Stevie was a problem. Somehow, she always seemed to know exactly what to do to set Angie off, but historically there had been the reassuring threat of discovery keeping Angie in check.

If she acted on an impulse, Morgan would inevitably find out, and then she’d have to explain why she was leading Stevie on.

And she would be leading Stevie on. Angie turned on the faucet and ran cool water over her hands, letting the cold calm her thoughts. She knew herself. She knew what she wanted. And she knew what she couldn’t have.

One of those things—in fact, the primary thing, as she had to constantly remind herself—was Stephanie Ward.

She shut the water off and rummaged around for a bag of popcorn, tossing it into the microwave and leaning back against the counter, where she could see Stevie flicking through movie options.

Her ponytail hung loose, still damp from her shower, and the color of dark honey.

Angie could feel the weight of that hair on her own bare skin if she allowed her thoughts to stray. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

No. This was her home, and Stevie was the person who knew her best. If Angie invited more, there was a chance—a strong chance, nearly inevitable—she would fuck things up and run, and she had nowhere left to go.

This was her house. Her home. Stevie was her home.

Maybe someday, if she could prove to herself she was whole and stable—

Someday was not today.

She poured the popcorn into the blue glass bowl they always used and plopped back on the couch a few minutes later. Stevie immediately scooched closer and scooped up a handful of popcorn, leaning her lithe body into the cushion with a sigh of contentment.

“You’re the best. And speaking of the best, may I present the cinematic masterpiece, Zombie Sheep from Mars ?”

Angie laughed around a mouthful of popcorn and nestled against Stevie out of habit.

This was normal. Fine, even. Usually, the living room was full of people, and sharing space was a necessity.

Stevie didn’t appear to have taken the change of circumstances into consideration, however, and seemed supremely unaffected.

“Question.” Angie would be normal about this if it killed her. “Does it take place on Mars or have the sheep come from Mars?”

“Only time and an undoubtedly spectacular script will tell. Catch.” Stevie tossed a piece of popcorn toward Angie. She tried to catch it in her mouth and missed; the popcorn went down her shirt instead.

“She scores!” Stevie hit play as she congratulated herself. Angie removed the popcorn from her cleavage and ate it, trying very, very hard not to imagine Stevie doing the same.

“There are opening credits?” Angie asked. “When was this filmed?” Putting thoughts of butter and Stevie’s tongue as far out of her mind as she could manage, she focused on the film.

“No idea. The special effects are gonna be lit. Brace yourself.”

“I’m so braced.” She pushed Stevie’s hand out of the bowl, triggering a brief skirmish for the ideal handful. She won. Stevie ate her loser’s share with relish anyway, licking a fingertip for effect.

“Hello, germs.” Angie couldn’t care less about Stevie’s germs, but she needed Stevie to never, ever do that again—not when they sat this close, and not when Stevie’s clean skin smelled better than movie theater popcorn ever dreamed, and not when the sight of Stevie’s tongue undid her.

Three years of longing hadn’t made things easier, only worse.

“Hello, woman who always takes a drink of my shit,” said Stevie.

Which was fair.

“What can I say. I’m thirsty.” Angie waited for the inevitable.

“That’s what she said,” said Stevie.

“Shut up and watch the movie. Who do you think dies first in this one?” She shifted and tried to bring her focus back to the screen, where the diverse cast was enjoying a normal afternoon.

“Well, she’s the final girl.” Stevie pointed to a girl-next-door-looking young woman.

Angie laughed and reached for a handful of popcorn at the same time as Stevie—again—but unlike their earlier kernel skirmish, Stevie’s fingers slid over her hand.

Angie’s breath caught sharply. Noticeably. Stevie’s hand stilled.

Angie turned to look at her, unable to help herself, the instinct magnetic. God, but Stevie’s mouth was lovely, the barest hint of teeth behind her parted lips. She knew what they would feel like, sinking into her lower lip. She’d imagined it enough times.

Stevie’s gaze fell to her mouth. Angie couldn’t control her trembling breath.

There were dangers to getting what you wanted. The minute you had something, you had something to lose.

She pulled back abruptly, nearly upsetting the bowl of popcorn, and moved to the far end of the couch with an awkward laugh. Stevie echoed the sound, neither of them willing to make eye contact.

Screams poured from the speakers as the first of the zombie sheep arrived. Angie and Stevie settled into a horrible silence, the popcorn untouched between them, and no promise of rescue by a housemate to alleviate the tension.

No one would know if she kissed Stevie.

No one would stop her from breaking Stevie’s heart.