Page 43 of Heat Transfer

I snagged the spatula from my brother a little harder than intended. I loved him to pieces, but the constant worries about my health and safety dug under my skin.

“Woo, sword fight,” Maeve called out, and I couldn’t help the bubble of amusement mingling with the irritation. Nice and spicy.

Since Cor was the only person I sparred with during classes, getting into a rhythm with him was easy. Almost as easy as the way our bodies had moved together when I’d fucked him the other night.

“Ready for this?” I asked Cor, waggling my brows.

He smirked. “Always.”

The surety in his tone struck me square in the chest, but my body moved on automatic, relaxing into the stance. Even though we were in my brother’s living room and wielding fucking spatulas, we’d practiced the same drills over and over again for the past six months. Cor shifted as well, and it was clear he settled into the same buzzy state of preparedness before a strike.

We both started to circle around as much as space permitted, spatulas wielded, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Had I been in odder situations? Probably, but right now, giddiness bubbled up, washing away the irritation that had been brewing. Cor’s shoulders were braced, but he always gave a tell before he was about to move.

His shoulders twitched.

I launched forward with my spatula.

Cor was quick to bat it away. We stepped back to circle again, the tension percolating in the air. Maeve shouted something, but all the noise dissolved in the background, my focus on Cor and his movements alone.

He darted forward, and I brought my spatula up to defend. The clang echoed through the room.

We parried—him with an up strike, defended, me with a sneak in from the side, defended.

Except his defense left him open.

I sliced in with the spatula, aiming for his chest.

However, he moved just as fast.

Neither of us relented, but the pressure from Cor was as strong as if we wielded practice swords, and I lost my grip on the spatula.

One second, the spatula was in my hand. The next second, it slipped out of my grip and hit the wall with a thunk.

I cringed.

That was before I saw where it had landed.

It was lying on the floor, next to a chunk out of Marco’s wall. Panic rushed through me.

Everyone stared at the result of our spatula fight.

“Oh, shit,” Ollie said.

“Uh.” I scratched the back of my head as I slow approached. “I’ll pay to get this fixed, of course.”

Marco tilted his head to the ceiling. “Madre de Dios.”

Cor clapped a hand on my shoulder. “No need. Marco, do you still have the paint for these walls?”

“Yeah. In the garage.”

“I’ve got plaster in my truck. I can get this patched up before we leave here tonight.” Cor emanated this cool calm that was so goddamn hot right now. I wanted to bend him over and fuck him again, though preferably not in front of family.

“I can help you,” Ollie said. “It’ll take, like, ten minutes.”

“In the meanwhile, let’s veer into board games. A much safer, less violent route.” Theo nudged forward Splendor.

“Speak for yourself,” Maeve said. “Board games definitely incite me to violence. I’m a sore loser.”