Page 6 of These Wicked Hearts

“N-no. It’s like a literal hammer. It’s his thing. I mean not his thing thing. Just like Captain America has a shield, you know? Between you and me, Captain America is kind of a snooze. Then there’s Tony Stark. Not a fan either, I don’t know. I do love Black Widow, though, and Captain Marvel. I’m realizing right now I prefer the female heroes.”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“No. Not really.”

He exhales. “What can I do to make all of this . . .” He waves his hand over my body. “Stop.”

“We could have sex?” Oh, word vomit. My idiot brain!

His mouth falls open. He stands there for a moment, speechless. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

I rock back on my heels, lifting my hands in surrender. “If you say no, then yeah. Total joke.”

“And if I say yes?” His arms fold tight over his chest.

I step a little closer.

“Listen—”

“Rather not.” He doesn’t move, though.

“I think we’ve bonded⁠—”

“No. No we haven’t.”

“Hear me out.”

His head tips back with a long worn-out groan I know I’ve earned, and he rakes his fingers down his face. There’s something about him. Not dangerous. Or at least I don’t think so. He just seems . . . worn thin. Like something’s been pulling at his strings, unraveling him slowly. There’s a heavy weight to his brown eyes that almost stops me from asking this, but he looks about as done as I am. Maybe this is something we both need.

“Something happened,” I say, softer now. “And my brain won’t shut up and I need—” My hand cuts through the space between us. “Something else to focus on.”

His gaze skims over me. “What happens if I say yes?” I watch his jaw tighten, but I can see interest burning inside him.

I clap once, the sound cracking through the quiet. “Here’s my pitch.” I spread my hands out, pointing beside me like I’m drawing out plays on a whiteboard just like our coach. “You come back to my place. We have sex, right? One night. No backstories. No weird morning-after eye contact deciding who should be the first one to leave or tell the other to leave. No wondering if I should kiss you because I don’t know if morning breath will bother you. It doesn’t bother me, just so you know. Then we never have to speak again. Easy peasy. Just a couple of lonely guys fucking.” I set my fake marker down and wiggle my fingers a little in front of my imaginary board. “Impressed?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of his lips.

“Tough crowd.” I huff. My hands and shoulders drop as I pick up my imagery eraser and wipe away my brilliant invisible plan.

“Who says I’m queer?”

I grin and flex my arms a little. “You were staring at my scrumptious muscles when I showed you my tattoos earlier. Don’t embarrass yourself now.”

His eyes flick to my biceps involuntarily, then he snaps his gaze away. When he looks back at my face his expression is smooth as glass. “Who says I’m lonely?”

I tip my chin toward the ledge of the roof. “You were sitting in the dark on the edge of a building,” I say. “You’re either lonely or you were monologuing before destroying half the city skyline.”

He blinks.

“What is—and I mean this as nicely as possible—fucking wrong with you?”

A laugh slips out of me. “Your words are mean, but your lips are pretty.”

His mouth drops open then snaps shut. He studies me then, really studies me. His gaze moves slower this time. I let him have a minute to think about my brilliant plan, because while he may think I’m ridiculous, I know I’m not the only one feeling this.

“Look,” I say after a second. “I’m trying really hard not to drink tonight.” The words sit heavy between us. “Figured I’d find something else instead.”

His brows rise just a fraction.