The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

"What happens after we get into Halloran?" she asked suddenly.

Lukas glanced over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"I mean us. What happens with us?" Sloane fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

"We figure it out." He flipped a pancake with casual confidence. "Same as we’re doing now."

"That’s it? ’We figure it out’? That’s your big plan?"

"Sloane." Lukas put down the spatula and turned to face her. "We’ve known each other nine years. We live in the same house. We train together every day. We just spent last night discovering exactly how compatible we are." His lips quirked into a smile at that last part. "I’m not worried about Halloran changing anything."

"But—"

"Do you want things to change?"

"No! Of course not." The words came out too fast, too loud.

"Then they won’t." Lukas turned back to the stove, his shoulders relaxed, his tone carrying the kind of certainty that made doubt feel ridiculous. "We’ll train. We’ll study. We’ll kick ass. Besides, there’s a chance we get into the same class anyways."

Simple. As if anything about their situation was simple. But standing there in her kitchen, watching him make breakfast like they’d been doing this for years instead of having crossed this line just yesterday, Sloane found herself believing him.

A plate landed in front of her, radiating warmth. The pancakes were golden, crowned with sliced strawberries that bled crimson into the pools of maple syrup. The sweet scent mingled with the smell of brewing coffee.

"Eat," Lukas said, his voice a low rumble. "You earned it."

"You’re impossible." She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.

"That’s not what you said in the shower," Lukas said, cutting into his own stack with the kind of casual precision that suggested he was enjoying himself. "Pretty sure your exact words were something along the lines of—"

Sloane grabbed a strawberry from her plate and threw it at him. "I will end you, Belmont."

The projectile bounced off his chest. He caught it on the rebound, popped it into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. "Again, those weren’t the words you were using last night. I seem to remember a very different—"

"I’m trying to eat here!" She felt her face burning but couldn’t help laughing. "You’re such a jerk."

"A jerk who makes amazing pancakes." He sat beside her with his own plate. "Admit it."

She took a bite and made an exaggerated moan of pleasure. "Fine. The pancakes are good. Happy?"

"Getting there." His knee bumped against hers under the table, lingering with deliberate pressure.

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Sloane found her mind wandering back to the night before, to the feeling of his weight on top of her, to the sounds he made when he came inside her. Her body warmed at the memory.

He’d been her first. She knew without asking that she hadn’t been his—he’d been too confident, too skilled for that.

"Hey, Lukas?" She speared another piece of pancake. "When did you... you know. The first time."

He paused mid-bite, fork halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Your first time. When was it?" She kept her eyes on her plate, trying to sound casual. "You obviously weren’t a virgin last night."

For a split second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes, a shutter closing too fast to see behind. He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, his amber eyes steady.

"Is it important to you?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"I guess not. Just curious." She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "You don’t have to tell me."

He set his fork down, the metal making a soft click against the ceramic. "It feels like a lifetime ago, Sloane." He met her gaze directly.

"And honestly? It wasn’t worth remembering. Not compared to last night. Can we talk about something else?"

Sloane studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders. Weird. She’d never seen Lukas uncomfortable talking about anything before. But if he didn’t want to discuss his past, she could respect that.

"Sure." She nudged his leg with her foot. "Like what we’re going to do with the rest of our day alone in this big empty house?"

The tension visibly drained from his body as his lips curved into a slow smile. "I might have some ideas about that."

"Care to share with the class?"

"Well..." He reached over, tucking a strand of pink hair behind her ear. "I was thinking we could test a theory I have."

"What theory?" Sloane asked, her breath catching as his fingers trailed down her neck.

"My theory," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "is that you’re even more beautiful when you come apart in the daylight."

The words hit her like a physical touch, a low, coiling heat deep in her belly. She had to swallow before she could speak. "That’s a bold hypothesis, Belmont."

"I have excellent preliminary data." His thumb brushed against her jaw, sending a jolt through her entire body. "But science requires rigorous testing."

"Science, huh?" Sloane put down her fork, no longer interested in breakfast. "Well, I am all for the scientific method."

"Thought you might be." Lukas stood, offering his hand. "Shall we commence experimentation?"

Sloane took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. As he led her toward the stairs, she found herself marveling at how completely her life had changed in just twenty-four hours.

Yesterday, they were training partners, childhood friends with unspoken feelings. Today, they were something else entirely—something new and thrilling and terrifying all at once.

And tonight her mother would come home, and they’d have to pretend nothing had changed. They’d have to act normal at dinner, maintain appropriate distance, keep their hands to themselves.

But right now, with the house empty and hours stretching before them, Sloane didn’t need to hide how much she wanted him. She didn’t need to pretend she hadn’t spent years watching him, wanting him, waiting for this.

As they reached her bedroom door, Lukas turned to her with a question in his eyes. Sloane answered by pulling him down into a kiss that left no doubt about what she wanted.