“You said you knew him from school.”
“You know what I mean!” I called over my shoulder, already halfway to the bedroom. Lincoln’s laughter—and his footsteps—followed behind me down the hall, and he made himself at home on the bed while I dug out clothes that looked somewhat more presentable.
Marshall and I were not yet to the shared drawers at each other’s houses stage of the relationship, but I had at least one pair of jeans hiding out in his closet because I’d had them in my bag by accident Wednesday night. There wasn’t much todo about a better t-shirt, so jeans and Marshall’s old college rowing team shirt would have to do.
“Do I look passable?” I asked, plucking at the hem.
My nerves had stacked on themselves since I’d gotten off the phone, and I didn’t know if I was more worried about meeting Marshall’s brother or making sure I didn’t slip up and call him Sir. It had been easy to not in the very first days of being with him, but now that I used it, now that he’d earned it…the feel of it in my mouth was as natural as breathing.
“If I found you attractive, you would be positively fuckable,” Lincoln said.
Scoffing, I pulled him up from the bed and into a hug that had the sides of our noses brushing together. His lips shined with butter from the pasta, and I kissed him quickly against the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you for staying with me today,” I said, threading our fingers together and walking backward toward the hallway.
“It was a hardship,” he assured me. “Sitting on that comfortable couch, watching all the premium channels, eating that expensive food of his.”
“We have all the premium channels.”
“Our couch is garbage,” he said. “I didn’t realize it until today.”
I laughed, making it back to the counter. “It is pretty nice. We’ll have to get a new one.”
Lincoln and I managed a few more bites of pasta before the garage door opened. At the sound of it, he turned to me with wide and playful eyes, then gave his shoulders a little wiggle.
“You ready?” he asked.
“No.”
“Too bad.”
He dumped another forkful of pasta into his mouth andspun the barstool around so he had a line of sight toward the door into the house. I tried to eat some more pasta, not because I had the stomach for it, but because it was part of my deal with Marshall that I would keep myself fed and hydrated.
The door opened and he was there, tall and broad as always, with a slump in his shoulders that was so slight, if you weren’t familiar with the way he normally carried himself you wouldn’t have even noticed it. When he saw me in his shirt, he flashed a very brief—but hot—smile, then stepped out of the way to make room for his brother.
Smith was inches shorter than him and far slimmer, but even though they looked different, it was clear they shared a relation somewhere in the family tree. Smith also looked like someone had kicked him in the ribs, and the urge to protect him was strong. I understood why Marshall had made the decision to bring him home. He closed the door behind him and looked up, giving me the barest of glances but lingering seconds longer on Lincoln.
“Smith, this is Silas,” Marshall said, closing the space between us and wrapping me up into a hug. He kissed the top of my head, and I managed a small wave to Smith, more of a gesture, just a raised hand in greeting.
“Nice to meet you.”
Smith clearly came from money. He was all manners even as whatever emotions he worked through bore down on him.
“This is my best friend, Lincoln,” I said, pointing at said friend.
“Nice to meet you,” Smith said again, softer.
“Do you…want some pasta?” I asked with a shrug. “I know you and Marshall normally have dinner together, but it’s early and I don’t think you guys had time to eat?”
Smith exhaled, sullen, then sniffed the air. “No, I’m good.”
“Butter and cheese,” Marshall observed, sliding his handdown my spine and letting it come to rest in the dip above my ass. “Have a bowl, Smith.”
“I’ll make it up,” I offered.
Marshall gave me a knowing look, and I went to the kitchen to serve up some of the extra pasta. Lincoln had sat back down at the counter to finish eating, and Smith took the empty barstool beside him.
“Do you want any?” I asked Marshall.
