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Now it feels like something else.

Something dangerous, because the last thing in the world I need is to actually fall for a straight guy and to let myself have hope that something could come of this.

“Where is he now?”

“Probably hiding in his bunk,” Camilo says. When I stand up and head for the door, he makes a noise for me to wait. “Please don’t yell at him.”

I sigh. “I won’t.”

“Rune…”

“I won’t. I’m going to let him know he didn’t fuck everything up. Then I’m going to make sure he understands that we don’t play with SQL and YouTube at the same fucking time.”

Camilo grimaces. “That’s fair.”

I nod, then turn and almost run smack into Axel, who’s attempting to storm into the office. He lays both massive hands on my chest, and I look down, then up at him.

“Shit. Sorry,” he murmurs and takes a step back.

“Please don’t kill Camilo,” I tell him as I step aside. “He’s a good boss.”

Axel sighs but shrugs and doesn’t say anything else as he slips into the office. He shoulders the door almost shut, and I catch a quick, grumpy “What the fuck do you want?” before I rush off.

That’s not something I need to be a part of.

It doesn’t take me long to get to the third floor, where the bunks are, and the room is dark, but I can see Easton lying on his back, one leg up, scrolling on his phone. Even just the shadow of him is absurdly hot, and that’s seriously becoming a fucking problem for me.

I hesitate, debating whether I should turn away, but I’m not a coward. At least, I’m mostly not a coward. So I take a step in, and he immediately hears my shoes on the floor and whips his head to the side.

“Oh,” he sighs out. “I assume you’re here for my balls?”

It’s dark enough I think he probably can’t see my blush. “I fixed your fuckup.”

“I knew you would.” He sounds exhausted. No. It’s something else. That’s the sound of defeat. My stomach aches a bit. “Sorry about that. I really should know better by now.”

“Yes,” I tell him, unable to stop myself. I step all the way into the room, and the door slams shut behind me. Easton jumps, and I hold up both hands. “Accident.”

“You can slam stuff. I probably deserve it.”

“Pity isn’t a cute look on anyone, even someone as hot as you,” I tell him, then fight the urge to bite my own fucking tongue off because what the hell?

He makes a soft noise. “You never call me hot.”

“Because everyone else does. I feel like your ego is perfectly intact.”

He laughs a bit, the sound rough and maybe not as amused as he wants to be, and I find myself walking over to his bunk. And oh. He’s shirtless. He’s also in basketball shorts, and it leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

I should leave.

I should get the fuck out.

I have to move away from him, or bad things are going to happen.

I sit down instead because apparently, I love making my life harder. “Did you have a bad call today?”

“Mm?”

“You seem low.”