Page 92 of Top Shelf

“I don’t want me working the whole time either, but unfortunately, I know me.”

“Mm. Me too.” Viktor’s eyes trail over mine, the gold light cutting across his face and catching in his hair. “We could video call my family first, yes? You can meet them by phone, so you can hang up if needed.”

I nod. “An end-call button is a powerful tool for family calls.” I swallow, reminded of how I hung up on my parents earlier. “What if they’re terrifying?”

“They will be terrifying.”

“Viktor.”

“It’s true. They will be loud and talk over each other. My mother will ask deep questions because she will say she wants to know your soul, and my grandmother will ignore all normal social rules. My nephew Hugo may show you his stick collection, and his sisters will want you to play dress-ups. And Freja will message you separately afterward if she decides you are hers. My father will barely speak at all.”

“Wow.” My eyes widen, and I blow out a slow breath. “Okay.”

“And they will also love you.”

I huff a small laugh. “That’s a big claim.”

“Yes. But I know them, too.”

“That doesn’t mean you know how they’ll feel about me.”

“I know.” His eyes squint out at the cityscape of Denver, and he shrugs a shoulder. “But they love what I love, you know?”

The wind moves between us, and for a moment, I forget that oxygen is a required element for survival. Swallowing hard, I sneak a glimpse over at him and see the surprise on his face as he realizes what he said, or almost said, or didn’t mean to say the way it came out.

I step toward him before he can retreat or try to take it back, and lean up on my toes. The kiss is soft as his hands settle at my waist, and mine slide beneath his jacket, palms curling into the warmth of his T-shirt. I keep my lips on his and turn, tugging him with me until the backs of my thighs meet the side of Priscilla.

“Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth.

“For?”

“Not telling me to calm down when I was losing my shit.”

His forehead rests briefly against mine. “That doesn’t work.”

“No. It makes me wanna commit arson.”

“You would make a hot pyromaniac.”

I laugh, and he kisses the sound from my mouth. The heat builds slowly between us in the open air, with the bike engine still warm against my legs. His hand slides under my jacket, finding the strip of bare skin where my shirt has ridden up, and my body answers immediately by moaning against his tongue.

“We’re outside,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

“Near a road. With dust.”

“Mhm. You’re very committed to environmental reporting.”

His hand flexes at my waist, and the smile on my lips disappears when his thigh presses between mine, firm enough to break my breath.

“Viktor.”

He watches my face, his thumb pad dragging up to roll against my bottom lip. “Tell me what you want.”

“Keep touching me.”

His other hand moves slowly from my hip to between my thighs. The pressure is maddening through fabric, and I bury my face against his throat to muffle the sound that rises when he finds the rhythm.