Page 39 of Not Safe for Work

“Hey,” he replies, and while it absolutely shouldn’t, that single casual syllable spreads over my skin like warm honey.

“I’m sorry,” I venture. “I didn’t mean for things to happen that way. I wanted to beat you fair and square, too.”

He opens his eyes and looks up, his gaze finding mine. It’s bronze and molten, gilded by evening sunlight. “Don’t sweat it, Tris. It was an accident.”

The way he says my name at that moment feels so intimate, almost like he’s never said it before. I’ve always understood how we fit together. In our own dysfunctional way, we’ve always made sense. But the ground is shifting, and I can feel him erasing all of my carefully drawn lines.

Then, something happens I wasn’t expecting.

Rafe’s face breaks into a slow, steady grin, hitting me with the heat of a thousand suns. It twists a potent spike of radiance, multiplying until I’m forced to step back. The dimple and the teeth and the curve of his full and perfect lips. The burnished light flaring in his dark brown eyes. The crinkle in the corners.

For the first time since I’ve met Rafe Gallagher, that smile is directed at me, and my entire world wobbles and goes sideways.

“The look on your face when Lan ran into you—”

He laughs, oblivious to my turmoil, throwing his head back with abandon. I’m not imagining it when a single ray of benevolent light beams from the sky and illuminates him like the angel in a Renaissance painting.

It takes a moment to return to my body. My outer shell shatters, and then… I laugh, too.

Rafe and I are laughing together.

“Your face when I grabbed you,” I add, and he laughs even harder.

“Can you believe Whistle Mouth had the nerve to kick us out?”

“That’s what I call her too!” I practically scream, and before long, my sides ache from laughing so hard.

He shakes his head, wiping the corner of his eye. “We should break into her room and put plastic wrap over her toilet seat,” he says. “Or hide a dead fish in her closet.”

“That’s so immature,” I say. “But we totally should.”

He smiles again, and I’m so flustered that my neck goes hot.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring like a psycho.

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” I reply, finding my tongue.

It isn’t the first time. He did it with Rory when I was picked for this. And there was that time some asshole in a meeting talked down to me like I was a six-year-old, and Rafe made him apologize. I overheard him once telling someone off for hitting on me and clearly making me uncomfortable.

His smile dims, and his expression becomes inscrutable.

“No problem,” he replies and leans back on the lounger, closing his eyes and releasing me from the power of his attention. The band around my chest eases, my body sagging in relief. I need a moment to sort through what that smile just set free.

It offers the bonus of allowing me to admire him. Golden light reflects off the dips and curves of his torso, highlighting the cinder blocks of his chest and the bricks of his stomach. My tongue runs over my lips, begging for a taste. I want to bury my nose in his throat. Trace my fingers along the taper of angled muscle framing his hips.

Squeezing my hands, I force myself to look into the sun’s blinding light. Maybe if I fry my retinas, Rafe won’t be such a distraction.

“I was planning to order room service,” I finally say, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Do you want anything?”

With his eyes still closed, he replies, “Yeah, I’ll have a burger and fries, thanks.”

Before I return to the suite, I give myself another moment to ogle him.

“Stop gawking, Tris.”

I jump a hundred feet.

Fuck. He can’t see me—how did he do that?