Page 113 of The Route to You

“Tell her I’ll call her. Better yet, tell her to stop being a bum and come out to Nashville and see me.”

“You know, there’s this handy service called text messaging that will allow you to do that yourself, right?”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Thanks, Davy. I appreciate the advice, as always. Go back to your absurdly early breakfast.”

“It’s almost six in the morning here. Go to sleep.”

Kyle was still smiling when he hung up. He hadn’t expected to feel so much lighter after the conversation, but he did. Getting a show off the ground would be a challenge, of course, but it was better than jumping into a job he hated.

He flipped the light off and lay back, his body starting to unwind. Talking to Davy had gotten his mind off the earlier tension with Sloan, at least.

A loud thump in the hallway, followed by an “Oof,” cut through the stillness.

Sloan.

Kyle jumped out of bed and opened the door to his room, poking his head out. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the hall, he saw her, back against the wall, legs half curled under her. A puddle of water glistened on the carpet beside her, empty glass still in her hand.

He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “You know, most people just drink water. They don’t wrestle it to the ground first.”

“Ass.” She glared up at him, her mouth twitching.

Kyle tipped his chin toward the glass in her hand. “Did it at least put up a fair fight?”

She smiled—slow, a little crooked, her eyes glinting even in the dim light. “It did. Things got a little wet.”

Yeah, I walked into that one.

His eyes dropped reflexively and caught the wet shirt outlining the perfect shape of her breasts. Hard nipples. Her hair had fallen loose around her face, clinging to her throat. Bare legs. Then his gaze slid to her eyes, his heart kicking at the way she was looking at him like she knew exactly what she’d just said.

That did it. He felt himself going hard.

Fuck. Me.

Kyle ragged his gaze back up, jaw tight, his tone as casual and smooth as he could manage. “Too bad I missed it.”

“Yeah?” Sloan tilted her head. “I’ll try to recreate it for you if you want.”

Not helping.

He pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the hall before his brain could catch up to his body. “Come on. Let’s get you to your bed, drunk lady.”

She laughed lightly, then tipped her head back against the wall, studying him in a way that was too intent. “Why are you awake?”

He crouched beside her, taking the empty cup from her hand and setting it on the ground. “I could ask you the same thing. Especially considering I wasn’t the one trying to drink my weight in gin tonight. I don’t know how you’re not snoring.”

“I asked first.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Mm.” Her eyes met his, eyebrow quirking mischievously. “Thinking thoughts?”

She’s trouble tonight. “Occasionally.”

“That could be dangerous.”

“I like danger.”

She shifted, attempting to stand without him . . . and immediately failing, her hand slipping slightly against the wall.