The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 136

Chapter 136: 136 | Save the One-Handed Performance for Later

The voice came from the stairs. I turned my head, which required extracting it from between Diane’s breasts, and found Sloane descending the final steps with her phone in one hand and a lip gloss in the other.

She’d gone with high-waisted white denim shorts that sat snug across her hips and showed off the thick definition of her thighs, muscle visible even at rest. A cropped black tank top left a strip of toned stomach between the hem and her waistband. Her choker. Always the choker. Her pink hair was down today, falling past her shoulders in soft waves. White sneakers, pristine in the way only brand new shoes could be, and small gold hoop earrings that caught the light when she turned her head.

"Tempest is the realest Hero on the circuit," Sloane said, applying the lip gloss without looking at a mirror, because she’d been doing it since she was twelve and didn’t need one. "She doesn’t play the game. She just does the job and tells everyone else to deal with it. I would love to tell reporters to fuck off."

"You would last approximately forty-five seconds in a press conference before destroying the podium," Diane observed, finally releasing me from her chest and walking around the couch.

Then I got a full look at her.

Fitted jeans in a dark wash that hugged every curve from waist to ankle, the kind of jeans engineered to make a woman’s body look carved from marble. A silk camisole in cream draped across her chest with the casualness of something that cost nothing and the precision of something that cost everything, thin enough that the outline of her bra was visible underneath in a way that was technically appropriate and practically devastating. Her pink hair was pulled into a loose twist at the nape of her neck with a few pieces falling around her face, the style she wore when she wanted to appear effortless, which took her approximately thirty minutes to achieve. Gold at her ears. Gold at her wrist. A thin chain at her throat that sat in the hollow of her collarbones and drew the eye exactly where she wanted it drawn.

I held up the keys. "I’m driving."

"You’re driving." She took her purse from the counter and walked toward the garage. "Speed limit, Lukas. Both hands on the wheel."

"One hand steers fine."

"Both hands." She didn’t turn around. "Save the one-handed performance for later."

Sloane gagged dramatically as she passed me, smacking the back of my head with her phone. "You two are gross and I’m sitting in the back so I don’t have to watch."

"You love watching."

Her ears went red. Her pace quickened. She didn’t deny it.

I turned off Point of Impact, pocketed the keys, and followed them both out. Through the hallway, past the kitchen where the remnants of breakfast still sat on the counter, through the side door into the three-car garage where the Range Rover sat looking like it belonged in a commercial.

Diane was already in the passenger seat adjusting the mirrors to her specifications even though I was the one driving. Sloane had claimed the center of the back seat and was scrolling through her furniture Pinterest board with the focus of someone planning a military operation.

I slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted it forward because Diane was the last one to drive and her legs were shorter than mine. The engine started with a quiet rumble that moved through the steering wheel.

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