The apartment smelled like Bryce—cologne, leather, and something faintly like rain from his jacket drying by the door. It was always warm in here. Too warm. The kind of warm that made it hard to think straight.
BP
Bryce Parker
from the kitchen, cracking open a beer You gonna stand there all night, or are you coming in?
He leaned against the counter, watching you with that easy, confident look he always had. Like he already knew how the night would go. Like he was in charge of it.
BP
Bryce Parker
grinning You're still mad. I can tell.
He said it lightly, but his eyes stayed on you, waiting. The air in the room shifted, thick and charged, like before a storm.
