Jamie and his dad’s relationship is good, but he’s the typical college kid who forgets to call home with how busy he is.
“Ugh, you’re mean. I’m glad he’s here. It’ll mean that I won’t need to apologize profusely on the phone for not calling,” he says.
“He knows you’re busy,” Tatum says, shrugging. “You’re good.”
Knocking on the door, I wait on the front stoop for the old men to get their shit together.
My dad opens the door a minute later, grinning as he sees us.
“Our spawns have come to visit!” he calls out, making me roll my eyes.
“As if I don’t talk to you almost every day,” I mutter, pushing my way into the house to hug him. “Hey, old man.”
“Old nuthin’,” he grins, pounding me hard enough on the shoulder to make me grunt in pain. His hair may be turning to salt and pepper, but he’s strong as a damn ox.
Yeah, he’s making his point loud and clear. Dad says hello to the guys as he shuts and locks the door before we walk back to the kitchen.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starving,” Jamie says immediately. My dad is well known for his pancakes.
“We weren’t only coming over to be fed,” I grumble. “However, now that you mention it, these assholes stole my coffee.”
“You mean, you let them steal it because they’re brats.” Dad chuckles.
“Where is my brat?” Jamie’s dad asks, smirking as he sees us. “It’s nice to see that you’re alive.”
“Sorry I haven’t called,” he mumbles, hugging his dad before he sits at the table.
“Eh, you’re busy. What brings you over?” Jamie’s dad asks.
“Our omega,” I say. His dad doesn’t seem surprised, which means that he’s been filled in about how we’ve met our scent match.
“Did you see him yesterday?” Dad asks.
Aeron, Tate’s dad, gets up to pour more coffee for everyone, while we settle in to talk to them.
“Yeah, and I frankly have more questions than answers,” I grumble.
“Hit me with them,” Dad says, pulling plates and filling them up with pancakes. At my raised brow, he shrugs. “I had a feeling we might be getting some company.”
“Your dad’s gut is never wrong,” Aeron says, setting cream and sugar out once our mugs are full.
Ugh, the three of them are smug as pigs rolling in shit.They know us too well.
“Alright,” I say with a sigh, taking my plate and pouring syrup over them. Waiting until I take a bite, humming as I chew. They’re fluffy, buttery, and fucking perfect as usual. “Why can’t I get my pancakes like this?”
“You don’t use enough butter and the stove is always turned up too high,” Jamie mumbles, chewing.
Little shit. He’s right, I’m too impatient.
“As you were saying,” Dad says, nudging me to continue.
Damn, we really are squirrels.
“We saw Beckham, and were able to talk to him a bit, but there are concerns about his behavior,” I say carefully. “Moving on this could cause issues with the peace we’ve held, Dad.”
“If someone is hurting your omega, we’ll make sure you can deal with it,” Jamie’s dad, Connor, says confidently.
