There’s no way I can resist. I take his hand, allowing him to fold me against him. God, he’s warm. Just a sturdy wall of gentleness. And every time I inhale, my nose is filled with that scent I can’t describe other than Ryan Ryan Ryan. I think back to dancing at his parents’ party, the strangeness of being close to him after weeks of animosity. This is different: being held by him is like coming home after a long day, kicking off your shoes, and falling into bed with your favorite book.

My cheek presses against his chest, and his chin rests on top of my head, my hair rustling slightly with each breath. Persephone slinks between our legs, purring, and I spot Hades up on a shelf, peering down at us suspiciously. I close my eyes.

One of Ryan’s hands spreads wide across my back, the other holding my hand as he rocks us back and forth. His heart is a drumbeat against my ear, and there’s definitely something stirring below his belt. I make sure to keep hold of his hand because that’s my lifeline right now, my proof that I’m not plastering myself against Ryan Lawson because I want him so fiercely I’m having trouble breathing.

We’re just dancing.

A noise out in the store distracts me—a low groan. I lean away from Ryan to peek through the partially open door into Happy Endings.

“Oh my god,” I whisper. “I think they’re—”

“What?” Ryan says, and we’re now cheek to cheek, two Peeping Toms gazing into the store.

Sam’s in an armchair, Brigitte straddling his lap, his mouth on her neck and her hands in his hair. Quickly, I pull us both into the back room. Now Ryan and I are inches apart in the darkness, staring at each other with wide, shocked eyes.

“You told them the security cameras were running, right?” he whispers.

I nod. “I guess…they don’t care.”

We wait, scarcely daring to breathe, until another sound makes us jump: the squeak of something heavy being shoved across the floor. I reach out to shut the door and accidentally get another glance: Sam’s got Brigitte up against a bookcase, her dress around her hips. A tiny, scandalized squeak comes out of me, and I put my hands over my face.

“What?” Ryan whispers, alarmed.

I open my fingers and peek at him between them. “I’m pretty sure they’re doing it.”

“Here? Now?” He scrubs a hand through his messy hair. “What do we do? This has to be against some kind of health code. Right?”

“I’m not going to interrupt,” I say, holding up my hands. “Are you?”

He shakes his head. “I guess we…wait it out?”