He should have put on one of the many new shirts Enzo had bought him, but instead, he went to the bottom drawer and dug out one of Enzo’s super-soft t-shirts. This one was a faded blue and had a guitar on it. The writing was so worn down, Seven couldn’t even read where it had come from.
Once he was dressed and his hair mostly dried, he padded downstairs to find Enzo in the kitchen, bare-chested, bare-footed, and hair still a little damp, curling over his forehead. He smiled when he saw Seven and patted the counter beside him. When Seven was within reach, Enzo reeled him in, kissing him thoroughly before lifting him up onto the marble slab that was the center island.
The kiss had temporarily scrambled Seven’s brain, but now, he let his eyes take in the kitchen. Like, really take it in. It was the size of any commercial kitchen but much more upscale. The stove top was built right into the marble, and beneath it were double ovens that were stainless steel with gold accents. They matched the two ovens built into the far wall. Seven was gonna marry a man with four ovens and two giant refrigerators. What was his life?
To be fair, Enzo did have an enormous family. When there were eighteen to twenty people at every family gathering, maybe having four ovens was reasonable?
He leaned back on his hands, giving Enzo a lazy once-over, once more pondering what Enzo could possibly see in him. Aesthetically, Enzo was perfect. Enzo was a fairy tale. Rich. Smart. Successful. Sexy as hell…kinky. Lovely family. Anyone would have been lucky to have him.
But that was only the part the world saw. Seven was the only one who knew that his sexy, bearded, tatted up boyfriend loved catty teen movies, that he sang opera and pop songs in the shower, that he had massive childhood trauma, that he was a giant dork who liked dad jokes, silly puns, and leaving Seven little gifts every day. Enzo was insanely generous to the people he loved, and he was really fucking good at taking care of those people.
He was really good at taking care of Seven.
Seven bit the inside of his cheek, his chest tight. He was so in love with this man he even annoyed himself. Enzo made him feel crazy. Possessive. Jealous. Feral. He’d lived most of his life without Enzo, but the idea of living the rest of it the same way made him want to throw up.
Enzo stood there, blissfully unaware of Seven’s musings, testing his sanity, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting white linen pants that hung low on his chiseled hips. Seven distracted himself by stealing a cherry tomato from the bowl beside the cutting board.
Enzo swatted his hand. “I’m trying to cook here.”
Seven grinned, wiggling his brows like a cartoon villain. “And I’m trying to see how much trouble I can get into before dinner.”
Enzo snickered, going back to his chopping. “Behave, brat.”
He didn’t want to behave. He wanted to cause trouble, wanted to push Enzo’s buttons until he pushed back and punished him. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight. If he pushed too hard, Enzo would do something truly psychotic,like have him recite the preamble to the Constitution or something.
Something panged deep in Seven’s chest. He didn’t want the wounds to heal. He liked looking at them and feeling the pain when he touched them. They were a souvenir, a constant reminder that he belonged to Enzo. Every time he’d sat down at work that day, he’d grimaced, only to look up and find Enzo smirking at him from his desk.
They made it hard to concentrate, even as Seven tried to focus on his mom’s case. He had hoped to hear something from the twins, but Lucky had only just been able to smuggle the thumb drive out of the evidence locker that morning. They said they were gonna take their time, comb through every line of code if they had to. He trusted them. He believed them. If there was a way to prove his mother’s innocence, Enzo would find it.
But Seven preferred Jericho’s way. Find the ones the law ignored, then dispose of them quickly and quietly so they never hurt anyone again. That was what he’d do to whoever had set up his mother. Okay, probably not. He doubted that Jericho would be willing to kill someone over embezzlement, but he could dream. Would Enzo want him to stop helping Jericho once they were married?
Seven bit his lip at the thought. Married. As in forever. Enzo would be his…forever. His brain couldn’t even process it. How had they gotten there? Would they stay there in the loft? Would they really open their own practice? Would they have kids? The thought of himself as a father was such a mind-fuck. Like,hewas a kid, how could he have a kid? Felix had kids. Babies. And he was a great dad. But Felix had Jericho as a role model. Seven’s lip curled. He just had Stanley.
“Why are you snarling at me, baby?”
He snapped his head up. “Sorry, was just…daydreaming, I guess.”
It was clear Enzo didn’t believe him, but he went back to chopping, the soft sound of the blade rhythmic against the board. Seven probably would’ve gone back to brooding about his shitty dad if Enzo’s body hadn’t proved to be such an exquisite distraction.
So, instead, he looked.
Enzo was so fucking beautiful it almost hurt to stare too long. He was literal artwork. He didn’t belong in a museum, hewasthe museum. Every tattoo was perfectly placed, each one drawing the eye to the shape of his muscles, the taper of his waist, the swell of his biceps. The ink didn’t just decorate him, it venerated him.
Seven’s gaze dropped to Enzo’s forearms, his throat tightening. The veins were sharp beneath his skin, even through the ink. His hands looked huge, capable, dangerous. The way his fingers curled just so as he chopped vegetables made Seven’s breath catch; it was so intentional, so practiced, so familiar.
He swallowed, his pulse skipping. Enzo was just standing there making dinner, and Seven wanted to pounce.
It was everything about him—the strength in his hands, his effortless grace with the knife, the way concentration creased the space between his brows. That look on his gorgeous face—that single-minded focus—it was the same one he wore when he was wrecking Seven with his mouth, with his hands, with his voice. Seven’s ears started to burn.
“You’re staring,” Enzo said, making Seven jump.
Enzo laughed softly but didn’t glance up from his task.
“And whose fault is that?” Seven countered poutily. “You’re the one walking around shirtless. I’m only a man.”
Enzo grinned, grabbing another cherry tomato and holding it to Seven’s lips. He took it, making a show of crushing it between his teeth, earning another grin from the other man. He swiped his thumb across Seven’s chin, capturing the juice running downhis chin, then bringing it to his own lips with a dark look that had something stirring low in his belly.
“You’re not playing fair,” Seven whispered, feeling undone.
