An aggrieved look as his chin drops forward, his brows lifting in a silent, “Really?”
I smile beatifically. “Really,” I murmur.
The phone starts chiming as Blake transitions the call from audio to video. Colt swipes again, points the screen in my direction, and then I’m seeing a face that’s much like Colt’s, except younger and thinner.
“She’s too hot for you, bro.”
I suck in a surprised breath.
“Thanks for being cool,” Colt grumbles. “Blake, this is Kylie. Kylie, this is Blake.”
“Hi, Blake,” I say, leaning into his brother a little more heavily, something settling in me when Colt’s fingers continue to make small patterns on my hip.
“Way too hot for you,” Blake says.
“Just because we’re related doesn’t mean I won’t end you,” Colt threatens almost cheerfully.
Blake grins. “You could try.”
“I would succeed.”
“Not hard when all you have to do is unplug a cord and my lungs would quit working.”
I jerk, mouth falling open.
“He’s joking,” Colt tells me, those fingers on my hip becoming soothing.
“Only partially,” Blake says, touching the strip of plastic running under his nose. “I need this and a couple other machines, so it would require more than one unplug.”
Colt groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder, the sensation a shock…though not a bad one.
I kind of like it—this big hockey player wrapped around me, leaning on me, even if it’s only just a tiny bit.
“Why do I have the feeling that the reason you’re so good with my kids is because of this hooligan?” I tease, giving in to the urge to stroke my fingers through the softness of his hair.
“You have kids?” Blake asks.
“She’s a middle school teacher,” Colt says, the words hot and warm, sinking in through the material of my sweater.
“Yeah? What subject?”
“History,” I supply.
“Wicked cool. I love history.”
“Go,” Colt murmurs, nudging me toward the table. “I’ll finish this up.”
“But he’s your brother. I don’t want?—”
“Eh, I talk to him all the time,” Blake says silkily. “Today, I want to talk to you.”
I find myself unable to resist his charm. “Will you give me all the embarrassing stories?”
Colt groans, reaching for the phone. “Maybe I should?—”
“Soup,” I say, dancing out of reach, knowing my smile is wide.
“Why do I think letting you two talk is a mistake?” he asks.
