“Wilde does.”
“Oh. So we’ll invite Wilde, then. I guess.”
He needs to get over this grudge he has because I don’t get the impression that Hudson and Wilde are coming to an end anytime soon. Kennedy might not think they’re serious, but Wilde’s never been involved with someone before, and the fact that he is now says all I need it to.
I tilt my head the way we were walking, suggesting we keep moving.
“Yeah. Let’s go. Now you’ve mentioned it, I’m starving.”
Kennedy leads the way, and I know how he feels.
But as my attention drifts down to his ass, I’m hungry for something different. My need for him is getting out of control, and I’m worried it will take the smallest thing for me to slip.
At least at dinner, with people around, there will be fewer chances for that to happen.
This is all going to be okay.
CHAPTER
TWELVE
KENNEDY
Working side by side with Wilde as he wordlessly walks me through how to descale and prepare the fish for cooking is awkward as fuck. He grunts at me, I try not to glare at him, and the entire time, I’m overly aware of Ziggy sitting silently a few feet away while Hart and Hudson bicker between themselves like he’s not even there.
The least they could do is pretend to include him in the conversation.
All the way through cooking dinner, I’m on edge. It’s not the fun, relaxing dinner I thought it would be. I’m torn between assessing every interaction between Hudson and Wilde, and Ziggy.
And honestly, it’s mostly Ziggy. I should be more worried about my brother than I am, but I can’t get my eyes to focus anywhere but on my friend. He’s so … he’s just so …
I drop the cooking utensils so many times I worry if I’ve overdone it today, and when dinner is finally plated up, it’s a relief to finally sit down. Ziggy’s in my usual camping chair,with Hart across from him and Wilde and Hudson testing the structural integrity of the third, so I grab the cooler, set it next to Ziggy, and sit on that instead.
His big eyes meet mine, and he pats the arm of the chair he’s on.
“I’m good,” I promise him. Considering I’m already thinking ahead for ways to have him stick around after dinner, there’s no way I’m letting him out of that chair. Besides, making sure he’s comfortable is more important to me than getting a numb ass.
“Does it taste okay?” I ask almost as soon as he’s put the first piece of fish into his mouth. “Do you like it?”
He chews for a second and swallows, and then a quizzical look crosses his face.
“The fish, is it …” I’m leaning forward, and it occurs a second too late that maybe I’m beingtooeager. “Good?” I finish, wishing I could swallow my words again.
His nod is small.
“I could grab some salt or pepper … we also have ketchup, if that’s your thing?”
Ziggy sets his hand on my thigh, which I didn’t even notice was bouncing anxiously, and his touch sends a bolt of want right to my cock. Jesus. I swallow tightly.
“It’s good,” he whispers.
Right. Space. Give him that so he can talk. Even though I know that’s how it works for him, it’s hard to remember when I’ve been so on edge all day. Ziggy is bringing out all these soft, protective feelings I really like, and it’s been a while since I had someone I enjoy spending time with.
“Sorry,” I say back, matching his volume. “Just wanted to make sure.”
“You made sure.”
It’s like my whole body swells at the sound of his voice. After yesterday, I’d hoped we’d turned a corner with communicating,but today, he’s barely said more than a few words. “Are you snarking me?”
