Page 41 of Trigger Happy Ending

I think I’m in love.

Chapter 20

Soren

It’s late when I ride the elevator up to the apartment. I’ve been out on my bike, attempting to clear my head since tonight’s earlier meeting with Carson. But it wasn’t the meeting that’s got me fucked up.

Raine’s under my skin like a fucking splinter.

The worst kind, too, lodged deep, one I can’t dig out. I’ve spent the whole night trying to think about anything else, but my mind ends up back to her.

Back to her hypnotic eyes.

Back to her bitchy little attitude.

Back to the way her body looked, covered in shimmering stars.

I try to find reasons, justifications for the infatuation with the angel-faced assassin. I tell myself it’s forced proximity. Living together and working the same op. Once it’s over, the Raine-sized splinter will naturally work its way out, and I’ll be fine.

A distraction.

That’s all she is.

A beautiful, dangerous distraction.

I shrug off my riding jacket, scan my fingerprint, and step inside.

The apartment is dark except for a few candles flickering on the coffee table. “Bad Guy” by Billie Eilish plays softly through the speaker. For a second, I think I’ve walked into the wrong apartment.

Then I see her.

She’s in the middle of the living room, twirling around barefoot. Her dark hair’s loose and wild. My eyes lock on what she’s wearing.

Is that my fucking shirt?

It’s way too big for her; it looks ridiculous. And by ridiculous, I mean sexy. It slips off one shoulder and brushes her thighs like a dress.

I grind my teeth at how good it looks on her.

She spins lazily, arms overhead, hips swaying with the words.

“Are you drunk?”

She half snorts, half laughs. “What gave it away? The dancing or the shirt?” She tugs on my faded vintage Vans Warped Tour tee as she says it.

She’s definitely loaded.

I step deeper into the room, eyes sliding to the open tequila bottle on the counter. A third is gone. She’s never knocked off a shift and drunk like this before. “What are you doing?”

“I had a few drinks after work,” she says, flopping onto the couch and turning the music down with her phone. “Where have you been?”

I fold my arms. “Out.”

“Ow-tahh. Where?”

“Went ridin’.”

“Without me?”