The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 276

Chapter 276: 276 | A Question of Enjoyment

Not a gentle tap. Not a hesitant inquiry. A single firm knock that communicated someone was here and expected to be acknowledged regardless of whether the acknowledgment was convenient.

I rolled off the bed and crossed to the door, not bothering to put on a shirt because whoever was disturbing me at this hour could deal with the consequences of their timing choices.

The door swung open.

Camille Ortega stood in my hallway wearing a tank top that did nothing to hide the shape of what it covered and shorts that stopped well above her thighs. Her two-tone hair was loose around her shoulders instead of the practical style she’d worn during the exercise. Her brown eyes found mine immediately with an intensity that made the air between us feel about twenty degrees warmer than the institutional climate control was probably designed to achieve.

She didn’t say anything.

I didn’t say anything.

We stood there for approximately three seconds while my brain attempted to reconcile the fact that the woman who’d tried to shoot me in the face twelve hours ago was now at my door in what could generously be described as sleepwear and accurately described as an invitation to something that was absolutely going to complicate my life.

Her eyes dropped from my face to my chest. Traveled lower. Came back up.

"You’re not wearing a shirt."

"You’re not wearing much either."

"I came to talk."

"At midnight. In that outfit."

"It’s eleven forty-seven." Her chin lifted slightly. "And this is what I sleep in."

"Right." I leaned against the doorframe because standing completely still felt too much like admitting she’d caught me off guard. "So you walked all the way over here in your pajamas to have a conversation that couldn’t wait until morning."

"I couldn’t sleep."

"Neither could I. That’s what makes it nighttime."

Her jaw tightened in the way it had during the exercise when I’d said something that landed harder than she expected. "Are you going to let me in or are we doing this in the hallway where anyone could see?"

"Doing what exactly?"

"Talking." The word came out clipped. "About what happened today."

"The part where you tried to kill me, the part where I kissed you, or the part where your top is currently riding up enough that I can see your stomach and I’m a guy who hasn’t figured out where to look?"

She glanced down. The tank top had in fact shifted during our exchange, exposing a strip of dark skin above the waistband of her shorts. She pulled it down with a sharp motion that somehow drew more attention to the area than leaving it alone would have accomplished.

The adjustment made things worse. I looked at the wall behind her head instead.

"Let me in, Belmont."

"I don’t think that’s a good idea."

"I wasn’t asking."

She pushed past me before I could formulate a response. Her shoulder brushed my bare chest as she entered my room without invitation or apology. The contact lasted maybe half a second but left a trail of heat across my skin that my body interpreted in ways I was actively trying to suppress.

The door swung shut behind her. I stayed where I was for a beat, staring at the closed door like it might offer advice on how to handle the situation I was now locked into.

It didn’t.

Camille stood in the center of my dorm room with her arms crossed under her chest in a position that was probably defensive but had the side effect of pushing certain anatomical features into sharper prominence. Her eyes moved across my space, cataloging the sparse furnishings and the damaged costume draped over my chair and the unmade bed I’d just been lying in moments before she decided midnight was the appropriate hour for unscheduled tactical debriefs.

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