The bucket of buffalo wings feels heavy in my hand as I stand outside Eliot's apartment door. I'd convinced myself this was just a peace offering—an apology for all the jokes and the endless questions about his... preferences. But now that I'm here, doubt creeps in.

I buzz his apartment intercom.

"What," comes Eliot's gruff voice, distorted by the crappy speaker.

"It's Hardison." When there's no response, I add, "You know I don't need you to buzz me in, right?"

The lock disengages with a click. I climb the three flights of stairs, my heart pounding harder with each step than it ever did during the Alpine job. At least there I had a clear mission.

Eliot opens the door wearing red plaid sleep pants and nothing else. His chest is bare, muscles defined even in the dim hallway light, and he's got that serious bed head going on. My mouth suddenly goes dry.

"I bring you a peace offering," I say, holding out the wings and the six - pack of beer.

Eliot studies me for a long moment that feels like an eternity. "What do you want, Hardison?"

"To apologize. And in doing so, to consume a pound of buffalo wings. Maybe catch the game that's coming on in twenty minutes."

He steps back, allowing me to enter. "Fine."

As he turns away, something about the broad expanse of his back, the curve of his ass in those plaid pants, hits me like a physical blow. I freeze in the doorway, staring like an idiot. It's like someone flipped a switch in my brain—suddenly everything makes sense and nothing does at the same time.

An epiphany. A sneeze inside my brain that changes everything.

Eliot glances over his shoulder, those scarred muscles shifting with the movement. "What are you looking at?"

I need to say something—something casual, something that won't give away the internal earthquake happening right now.