After dipping the sausage in the fantastic homemade barbecue sauce the chef provided, I take a big bite. As I do, I glance up at the stage to find Rami looking at me with hunger in his eyes.
I bite off more than I should, then curse because the meat is fresh out of the smoker and is burning the inside of my mouth. I chew fast and swallow quickly, knowing I’m definitely gonna pay for that move later on.
Even though my mouth is deliciously on fire, I have to laugh. That was the gayest shit ever. I’m tempted to keep going after the sausage, but they’re already making announcements, and I really did burn the inside of my mouth.
The judges start off with a bunch of different awards, including the most unique taste.
“Going to be honest with you folks,” Marley says into the microphone, her eyes sparkling. “The most unique taste is often not a favorite, but that was not the case today.”
She sends me a grin, then announces my name as the winner of the category.
Determined to ignore Rami, I walk up on stage and take the hilarious rainbow cow statue from the flirty judge while still holding the sausage on a stick in the other hand.
“Now that I’ve seen how you handle your meat, I never had a chance in hell, did I?” Marley asks, her attitude and grin playful.
I look in Rami’s direction, and she laughs. Producing a mildly frustrated sigh, I step into her half-hug.
“Something tells me you’ve got a chance with that one,” she whispers into my ear.
Not knowing what to say, I give her a wink and head off the stage. Rami shifts as I pass him, and our eyes catch. I send him a quick nod, then curse myself for not being able to ignore him.
Stop being led around by your cock, True.
It happens again when I win second place overall, though at least this time I’ve taken down the rest of the sausage—burned tongue be damned—and am no longer carrying a massive phallic symbol on stage with me. When I pass Rami for the second time, he’s biting his lower lip, staring at me like he’s holding back as much as I am.
It’s all I can do not to drop my trophies and drag him to my car to do very dirty things to him in the back seat.
Thankfully, my head is smarter than my cock today, though goddess knows that’s not a guarantee of future success. Fingers crossed we go back to not running into each other all the time because I don’t know how much of this I can handle.
10
ANDERS AND OMAR
“Habibi,why is our son spying on us?”
Anders looks up from washing the blood out from under his fingernails. “What do you mean, spying on us?”
“He came by the house the other day and spent an inordinate amount of time in the office. I pulled up the cameras,” he says, holding up his phone, “and he was opening cabinets and drawers, looking for something.”
“Did you ask him about it?” Anders asks, drying his hands.
Omar shakes his head. “I asked if he needed anything, and he said no.”
“Did he take anything from the office?”
“No.”
The husbands never discussed how it felt to discover that their own children don’t have the killer instinct. Omar’s mother-in-law, having raised two serial killers as ethical as they are prolific, was geared up—excited even—to help Anders and Omar navigate those tricky waters, but the desire to murder simply never materialized.
Not that the Wildlings were perfect little angels. No, they’dearned their nickname repeatedly. A collective handful, yet not one drop of it veered into vigilantism, let alone sociopathy.
Well, except for Silas.
He’d been adopted late and had never been allowed to mix freely with the other children. Omar still remembers the day he saw a rattlesnake coiled at the firing range—silent, still, evaluating. Silas has that same calculated power.
Which is why Omar secretly set up monitoring in and around the Wildlings’ condo when Sy moved into the building last year. Just in case.
But now, watching Rami on the footage, rummaging through drawers with a determined look on his face? Omar can’t help the small thrill of discovering that his social media darling son might finally be coming in to his lawless side.
