“You have to spill now,” he said. “I heard too much to let you keep it all in.”
“You shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”
“Probably not, but I did. So, tell me about Friday.”
Lincoln used his shoulder and hip to move me around the bed until we were both flat on our backs, stares turned toward the ceiling.
“Friday was…I don’t even have words for it,” I said.
“And you’re seeing him tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“No,” I said quickly, but the denial lodged in my throat and almost tasted like a lie. “I mean, that sounds silly.”
“Why? Because he’s your dad’s age?”
“God, Linc. No. He’s not as old as my dad.” I groaned, but Lincoln just laughed at me.
“He is kind of hot in that middle-aged man kind of way. Do you think he wants you to call him Daddy?”
Reaching behind me, I grabbed my pillow and yanked it around, bringing it down hard on Lincoln’s face and smothering the tail end of his obnoxious laugh.
“He’s not my Daddy,” I argued, even though heat burned low in my belly at the thought of it.
“Boyfriend then,” he said again.
“We’re going to talk about it tomorrow,” I said.
Lincoln steamrolled over me in the way he always did when he was excited about something. “Boyfriend and Dom.”
I wanted to protest it, but all I could manage was another whack against his face with the pillow. I didn’t hate the idea of Marshall being my boyfriend, and I definitely liked the idea of him being my Dom. He’d said on the phone he wanted me to belong to him…
What else could he have meant, if not that?
CHAPTER 16
MARSHALL
Ispent the whole of Monday looking forward to seeing Silas after work, and not even an annoying onslaught of text messages from Finn could sour my mood. He’d taken my confession about my interest in Silas and run with it, refusing to let me know a moment's peace about the whole thing. He’d told Hunter as well, because my usually stoic and reserved middle brother even sent a message about it as I was getting ready for bed Sunday night. The only saving grace was that Smith seemed to still be in the dark. I was nowhere near ready to tell my youngest brother that I was involved with someone his age. Someone he knew from school.
It was just before seven when Silas showed up at my house, still dressed for work and looking like he’d been through the wringer. When I opened the door to him, his shoulders sagged, and he shuffled inside, toeing off his shoes again without being told.
I liked that about him.
“You look like you’ve been through it,” I said as a greeting.
He gave me an exasperated look.
“Bad day at work?” I asked.
“The day you came for that meeting, my dad told me I could redraft the bid for him.”
Something a lot like dread pooled in my belly, and I hated it was my first reaction. Bidding against Stanley meant I would get it for sure, bidding against Silas? That wasn’t such a sure thing. He was too bright and too forward-thinking for that sort of assumption.
“You didn’t tell me that,” I said.
