“It’s not that I . . .” His throat works. “I didn’t come here for that.”

“I didn’t think you did.” I make room for him, and with a few tentative, lumbering steps he’s inside. In all his hulking, massive grace. He looks around, running a hand through his hair. Is he thinking about what happened here twenty-four hours ago? Well, more like twenty-eight point five, but which maniac is counting?

“Is that a hummingbird feeder?” he asks.

“Yep.”

“Any hummingbirds?”

“Not yet.”

“Me neither. In my garden, I mean.”

“I noticed the mint you’re growing.” We exchange another smile. “Want to sit on the balcony? I have fancy German beer.”

The chairs I comfortably sprawl on look like kid’s furniture under Levi. His hand dwarfs the beer bottle. His profile, as he stares pensively at the Houston skyline, is unbearably handsome. He looks almost aggressively out of place. I want to know what he’s thinking about. I want to ask if he regrets our kiss. I want to touch him again.

“I’m sorry about the other night. And about missing work when we’re at a critical point. It was an emergency.”

Oh. “Was it . . . was it something about your non-wife?

From the photo?”

He chuckles. “I can’t believe the conversation material that picture’s giving us.”

“Amazing, huh?”

His smile fades. “Penny’s ill. Epilepsy. It’s under control, but she’s growing up fast and her meds need to be adjusted

often. It’s tricky, finding the right dosage.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Weirdly enough, Penny takes it in stride. She’s a remarkably resourceful kid.” He takes a swig and makes a face at the beer. What a heathen. “Lily, though—her mom —she struggles. Understandably. I try to be around when things get bad.”

I stare into the distance. Of course he does. He’s that kind of person. “I’m glad they have you.”

“I’m pretty useless. I mostly play UNO with Penny, or buy her slime that has some toxic ingredient—”

“Borax.”

“—that drives Lily crazy. Yes, Borax. How did you know?” “I have mom friends. They complain about it.” I shrug. “Where’s her dad?”

“He died a little over a year ago.” He hesitates before adding, “Rock-climbing accident.” For a moment I don’t think much of it. Then I remember the picture in his office.

Levi and the tall, dark-haired man. “Were you related?”

“No.” His expression darkens. “But I’d known him forever. Since kindergarten. We’d line up in pairs till the end of elementary school. Peter Sullivan and Levi Ward. Not many T, U, or V names, apparently.”

I set my bottle on the table and study his face. Sullivan. That name again.

It’s common, that’s why it crops up so often. And yet . . .

“Like the prototype?” I murmur. “Like the Discovery Institute?”

I wish he’d look at me. But he keeps staring at the city and says, “I didn’t even want to be an engineer. I wanted to major in veterinary science. Had even declared it, but Peter convinced me to take an engineering class as an elective. We did this project together—we built an olfactory cortex. A piece of hardware that could correctly identify smells. He did most of the work and had to teach me everything, but it was a blast. Thinking that something like that could maybe be used for patients, you know? Somewhere down the line?”

“That’s impressive.”

“It wasn’t always correct.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “On our final presentation, while the instructor was examining it, the cortex announced that it was smelling feces.” I burst into laughter. “It maybe needed a few tweaks. But I fell in love with brain-computer interface because of Peter. He was the most brilliant engineer I’ve ever met.” He presses his lips together.

“I saw his skull crack in two when he fell. I was ten feet away, halfway through my climb. The noise—it was unlike anything. I didn’t know how to tell Lily. And Penny wouldn’t leave the room . . .”

His voice is so deceptively level, so painfully neutral, I’m shocked when I realize that my cheeks are wet. I want to reach out to Levi. I need to reach out. But I’m locked inside my head, paralyzed, finally making connections and understanding things.

“They renamed the Institute after him. And he came up with the prototype.” Before dying. That’s why Levi needed to be on BLINK. Why it needed to happen with him in charge. Why he fought so hard for it.

Levi. Oh, Levi.

“I’m going to build those helmets.” He’s still staring into the distance. His grip on the bottle is a vise. “Like he envisioned them. And they’ll have his name. And Penny will know it was her dad, and she—” He stops. Like his voice will break if he continues.

Suddenly, I’m not scared anymore. I know what to do—or at least what I want to do. I stand, slide the beer out of Levi’s hand, and set it on the metal railing with a clink. Then I lower myself into his lap, legs on each side of his

waist, my arms around his neck. I wait until his hands are around my waist.

Until his eyes shine up at me in the darkness. Then I say, “We’re going to build those helmets. Together.” I smile fiercely against his lips. “Peter will know. Penny will know. Lily will know. And you will know.”

The kiss is a punch-out drug, but a familiar one. After all, I’ve thought about nothing else for the past day. Pleasure hums through me with every stroke of his tongue against mine, every brush of his fingers against my lower back, every reverent breath against my jaw. He pulls me closer and groans into my skin, half sentences that drive me crazy an inch at a time.

“You’re so— Fuck, Bee,” as I run my teeth down his throat. “I used to dream of you,” when my fingertips brush against the fine hair underneath his belly button. “I’m going to—we have to slow down, or I’m going to—”

after I start rocking on top of him, and the friction of his erection against my clit is already the best sex I’ve ever had. I’m shuddering, pulsating, about to explode with pleasure. My underwear is soaked and I want to get closer.

Closer.

But our clothes stay on. Frustratingly, maddeningly on, even when he brings me to bed, the kitchen light trickling inside the room. Levi’s grip on my hip is near-bruising, every breath a sharp intake. My body feels warm, buoyant, filled with cutting heat. He looks down at me and says, “I want to fuck you.” He nips at my collarbone, and—he likes teeth. To bite, to clutch, to suck. There’s something devouring about him, something clumsy and overeager, but it’s not a turnoff. He’s usually so patient, meticulous, but now he can’t wait. Can’t have enough. “Can I fuck you?”

I nod up at him, let him take my top, my pants, everything off, and the way he looks at me like he has found answers all of a sudden, like my body is a religious experience, has me squirming up for contact.

“This,” he says breathlessly, his thumb tracing reverently the piercing on my nipple.

“If you don’t like it, I—”

He shushes me, and it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m totally okay with him staring at my small breasts as though they’re something wondrous, with him kissing

them until his lips are plump, until I have to pull at his hair, until I’m so wet, I feel it trickle down my thigh. I’m okay with being told ridiculous things: I’m a good girl, I’m perfect, I’ve been driving him insane, when he first saw me I changed the chemistry of his brain.

He makes me laugh when I roll us around, push him underneath me, his elbows smacking against the hard wall. He mumbles a few obscenities, but when I bend down to kiss him again he forgets all about it. “You’re too big for the bed,” I tell him between giggles, peeling his shirt from his skin. He has abs. Defined ones. And pecs. He has muscle groups I thought were myths.