Page 120 of Rising Heat

Tyler’s chest shakes with a low laugh.

“Still with us, Trouble?”

“Barely,” I manage. “Spiritually, I’m in another dimension.”

“Good dimension?”

“Incredible dimension.” I laugh. “Five stars. Would visit again.”

A low rumble rolls through Mack’s chest beneath my cheek.

I feel it more than hear it, and something about that—the strange intimacy of recognizing his laugh by the vibration of his chest instead of the sound of it—settles somewhere in my chest I’m not going to poke at right now.

Temporary, I remind myself, his hand is still in my hair.

Totally temporary.

A few moments later, Tyler’s mouth finds my shoulder again, his lips skimming my skin just enough to give me butterflies.

“Round two?” he murmurs.

I lift my head off Mack’s and look between them. Mack’s already looking at me like he already knows the answer and is content to let me be the one to say it.

I reach for Tyler first, catching his mouth with mine.

“Obviously,” I say against his lips.

Behind me, Mack’s fingers tighten slightly in my hair.

I stop thinking about temporary. I stop thinking at all.

CHAPTER TWENTY

mack

CHAPTER 20

The basement is the only place in the building that still smells exactly like it always did.

Motor oil, concrete dust, firewood, and the cold that never really leaves a basement no matter what you do to the pipes.

The Grand National sits in the back beneath the street-level garage door we put in during the renovation—an upgrade I fought for and Tyler and my old man didn’t argue with because they knew what that car meant to me.

I’ve had the ’87 Buick since I was twenty-two and I’ll probably have it until I’m dead.

It runs. Better than when I bought it, which took three years of weekends and a level of stubbornness Ty still brings up whenever he needs an example of my worst qualities.

But a car like that is never really finished. There’s always something to check—a seal starting to whisper, a bushing wearing down, some small thing worth catching before it turns into a bigger headache.

I don’t mind.

I like investing my time in things worth coming back to.

Tonight I’m under the front end checking the exhaust hangers, which usually requires enough focus to shut everything else off.

The press-fit is giving me a problem. I’ve reset it twice, but the bushing keeps seating just misaligned enough that I’ve been staring at it trying to figure out it’s actually wrong or if I’m just looking for something to fix.

I reset the press and try again. This time, the fit comes in clean. I hold it for a count of ten and check the alignment from three different angles.