I release an exasperated exhale. “Do you ask each other obvious questions every morning?”
This garners me a side-eye from my non-friend, fake fiancé, orgasm bestower. “The point of both sayings is that the answer is obvious.”
“So boring. There are seven acres of woods in Vatican City, so my question about the Pope stands.” I shrug. “I like a little mystery.”
Axel winks at me, aware of how much I enjoy getting under Ryker’s skin. “So, we’re leavingmilk consumptiona mystery.”
“Bingo.” I kick my chin to the coffeepot, currently dripping. “For today, I’ll take it black with sugar.”
And that’s how you make a fuckup seem purposeful.
Ryker stretches toward me from the stove, where he’s frying up potatoes, and slides his hand over the small of my back. His voice is a low rumble in my ear, sandpaper that coasts over me like silk. “Nice diversion. You okay? I didn’t say a thing, but the way I carried you out of the party … word gets around. They assumed. I denied.”
I lock my eyes on his captivating blues and almost lose my breath. “Which made it worse, I’m sure.”
He huffs a small laugh. “Of course it did.”
“And where did the bulldozer come from?” I ask, not bothering to explore the symbolism since it’s clearly related.
“Cash,” he huffs. “Smart-ass.”
You’d think with a room full of his brothers and my little guy, this wouldn’t feel intimate. But it does. My heart thumps in my chest. I never took myself for someone who couldn’t have a sexual experience without getting my emotions tangled up in it. In fact, I can’t think of any time that happened. But with Ryker, my emotional connection was already cemented, so this is … complicated.
“Well, I’m good. It would’ve been more awkward if they’d tiptoed around it.” I shrug, trying to appear as blasé as I can. “Plus, it seems like a rite of passage for a fake engagement, so I’m sure it was expected.”
“Right.” He smiles as he returns to the food, but it’s laced with despondency, which knots my gut.
And then I recall the reason he ended our night, and my mood sobers further.
“We’ve been off schedule lately,” Axel begins, passing me a cup of chicory coffee, “but we have mandatory family meals three times a week.”
“Mandatory?” I arch a brow, intrigued by how similar things are to when Axel and Ryker were raising these guys. After their parents died, they had dinner together as a family every night. I always loved that.
Maddox plates up the grilled chicken and avocado club sandwiches, eyeing me. “Yep. Because we live, work, and socialize together, but Papa Axe is obsessed with bonding.”
I forgot the younger ones called him that sometimes. Sarcastic but still endearing.
“I’m obsessed with making sure you ass—idiots don’t burn the resort down,” Axel snaps back.
Maddox barks a laugh. “And family mealtimes are the way to do that?”
Axel resumes his seat at the table. “One of the many ways. Practically everything I do is to keep you all alive, though God only knows why.”
“Says the man who booked the meeting that had the worst security breach—”
“Fucking hell, Cash,” Ryker breaks in as a phone rings.
It’s Axel’s. He answers immediately, raising it to his ear. His brow line furrows a second before he bellows, “For fuck’s sake.”
I was willing to overlook the cussing because of the warmth, but really …
I glance at Ryker. “We should work on that. Freaking is a fine substitute.”
“Frucking!” Remy yells in a poor attempt to parrot me or combine both words as the penthouse door slams, and Jax ambles in, to which Remy tacks on an enthusiastic, “Blue!”
“You know how many therapists have quit over the years, Jax?” Axel doesn’t wait for an answer, his call abandoned. “Thirty-six. Thirty-six fu—freaking therapists.”
Jax is unaffected by the wrath pointed his way. He beelines for Remy with a, “Hey, little dude,” before half-heartedly defending himself. “It’s really not that many. You’ve been making me go since I was eight. That’s, like, two a year.”
