He probably only heard ‘you should take them home.’
“I knew that,” I say. “I just…kind of forgot.”
Rowan looks like Blair stabbed him in the heart. “I just figured they weren’t biologically ours, that’s why it’s called fostering. I uh, kind of forgot about it the moment I brought them home.”
“Yes,” Blair laughs, amused. “The kittens are not biologically yours, so you foster them. Until they get adopted.”
Suddenly, Rowan growls, startling both me and Blair. “No one is taking them from us,” he says, his voice low.
Blair’s laughter is replaced by a genuine, gentle smile. “Exactly. You can adopt them, Rowan. There’s no waiting list for them, and you would be doing a great thing.”
Rowan visibly relaxes, and Blair’s scent grows even sweeter as she looks at my brother.
“Honestly? I thought they were ours already,” I say. “I couldn’t imagine giving them to someone else.”
Travis would be furious, too.
Those cats are a part of our lives, now.
“Congratulations,” Blair replies, turning her attention to me. “You have your first foster fails.”
I grin. “Are you saying we’re going to have more in the future?”
“It happens more often than you think. My boys were fails,” she adds.
“I would kill anyone that tried to take them,” Rowan snarls. “Those aremykittens.”
Blair raises an eyebrow at my brother.
“Well, you don’t have to now, killer,” she says. “No one is taking the girls away.”
A tinkling of bells sounds in the distance, followed by the crinkling of toys.
“Anyway,” Blair adds. “Now that that’s settled…show me some scary games.”
I’m a pervert.
IswearI’m not trying to be.
But by the time we’re halfway through the first game, Blair is sitting between us, staring at the television intently.
We switched spots so she could face the screen at a better angle, and Rowan joined us to point out exactly what to do with the controller and explain the story of the game.
Now, she’s sandwiched between us, her brow furrowed and her palms sweaty from gripping the controller so hard.
She’s scared, but mixed with her arousal, it’s mouthwatering.
And I’m trying so, so fucking hard to not stare at her.
“How is this your least scary game?” she murmurs, investigating a decrepit doll in the basement. She reads the description of the item silently, mouthing the words to herself.
“It was our first one,” Rowan says. “Once we realized we had an audience, we went darker.”
“The story itself is really interesting,” Blair adds. “Creepy, but, if someone takes to time to read all the lore, it’s pretty complicated and compelling.”
“Thanks, babe. I wrote it when I was twelve.” Rowan smirks.
Blair turns her attention to him, not realizing that the entity has given its warning sound. A jumpscare will be coming soon, and I’m not sure if I should warn her. “Attwelve?” Blair repeats. “Twelve years old, and you were writing these?”
