After placing them on the table, he took the seat across from me and tapped my plate with his fork. “Eat. It’ll soak up the shame.”
“There’s not enough food in the world to soak up last night,” I mumbled.
I stabbed a bite of eggs, chewed slowly, and tried not to let my eyes roll back in my head.
Goddammit. Sonofabitch. Motherfuck.
The eggs were fluffy and light and perfectly seasoned with just the right amount of cheese. Because of course they were.
“Good?” he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Sure enough, when I lifted my gaze to his, he was grinning at me. The little bastard.
“They’re fine.”
“Oh, come on. They’re better than fine. With the way you’re biting back a moan, some might even say they’re…mind-blowing.” He paused, letting those words land. And then, “Kind of like chapter fourteen inBred by the Moonlight, am I right?”
I choked on the bite I’d just taken. Coughing, sputtering, almost dying, thanks to a piece of perfectly crisp bacon and Lincoln Steele’s unfiltered mouth.
He very calmly reached over and thumped me twice on the back, his full lips turned up in an amused smirk. “You good?”
“Fine,” I bit out, eyes narrowed on him because I knew that look. And that look said he was just getting started.
“Quite the interesting reading material you have there. I wasn’t going to read the whole thing, but when I saw the page you had earmarked, I couldn’t help myself. Those are some kinks you’re into, hellcat. The one that surprised me the most was when Silas said he wanted to breed?—”
With a glare, I reached over and slapped my hand over his mouth. “You are the actual worst. Do you know that?”
He stared at me, his eyes sparkling before I dropped my hand and clutched my fork like a weapon instead.
“You’ve told me once or twice.” He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze intent on me in a way that made me shift in my seat.
Lincoln was always like this—teasing, annoying, and deeply allergic to taking anything too seriously. But right now, I saw something else just beneath the surface.
Something that looked an awful lot like determination.
“So,” he said, all faux casualness. “About last night’s shame…”
I exhaled a heavy sigh and rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “Thought this breakfast was supposed to soak it all up.”
“Yeah, how’s that working for you?”
I didn’t answer him, just took another bite to buy myself some time.
“You wanna fill me in on what’s going on, or should I start digging to figure it out myself?”
And there it was—that determination that I didn’t see often from him. In middle school, when he’d refused to give up on his bedraggled science fair robot. During senior year, when he’d rebuilt an engine just to win a bet. And now, apparently, with my life.
I didn’t want to tell him what was going on. Didn’t want to tell anyone, actually. And I definitely didn’t want Lincoln calling my twin brother to ask questions he wouldn’t have the answers to anyway.
But the look in his eyes said he wasn’t going to drop this, no matter how much I attempted to avoid it.
Maybe I could placate him with just enough information to get him off my back but not enough to spill just how much trouble I was in…
“I didn’t mean to get that drunk. It was a rough day.”
“Yeah, I got that much.” He braced his forearms on the table and leaned toward me, a hard glint in his eyes I wasn’t used to seeing. “Now, who’s Grant, and where can I find the motherfucker?”
I froze. Blinked. Blinked some more. Shook my head to try to make sense of his words, becausewhat?
“I don’t?—”
