Provider. Caretaker. The kind of person I have no business wanting.
While Jason's busy with the others, I turn my attention to Robin. He's watching me watch Jason, a knowing look on his face that I choose to ignore.
"What about you?" I ask instead.
"What about me?"
I reach over and tug at his collar, checking his neck and shoulders for marks the way I checked Toby's. Nothing. No bruises, no bites, no evidence of anyone claiming territory. "You fucking any of these lions?"
Robin laughs, unbothered by the blunt question. "Nope."
I let go of his collar, satisfied. "But you are fucking someone."
He just smiles, smug and secretive. "Usually."
"This one good enough for you?"
Robin shrugs. "It's sex, not marriage."
"Fair." I lean back in my chair, studying him. He looks good—healthy, happy, less tightly wound than I remember. Whatever he's doing, whoever he's doing it with, it seems to beworking for him. "I guess since you lost your virginity to that drummer at a concert, your taste has had to improve slightly."
"Hey! Chad was hot!"
"Chad was wearing eyeliner and couldn't spell his own name."
"The eyeliner was sexy."
"The spelling was concerning."
Toby snorts into his water glass. Even Knox's mouth twitches, though he tries to hide it.
"You're such an asshole," Robin says, but he's grinning. "I was sixteen. We all make mistakes at sixteen."
"Some of us make fewer mistakes than others."
"Some of us weren't born with a stick up their ass."
"Language," I say mildly, and Robin throws a piece of naan at my head.
I catch it and eat it, because it's delicious.
The banter feels good. Normal. Like no time has passed at all, like I didn't spend five years in places I can't talk about doing things I can't forget. Robin's still Robin—sharp-tongued and soft-hearted, deflecting with humor, keeping everyone at arm's length except the people who've earned their way in.
And me. He never keeps me at arm's length. Even when I disappeared for years, even when I was terrible at staying in touch, he never stopped letting me in.
Across the table, Jason's watching us with a soft expression, like he enjoys seeing me joke around with my brother. When he catches me looking, he flushes and busies himself rearranging the chutneys that don't need rearranging.
God, he's pretty. And the way he keeps looking at me, then looking away, then looking back like he can't help himself—like I'm magnetic north and his compass keeps swinging toward me—
I want to see what he looks like serving me breakfast after I've kept him up all night. Want to see him in my kitchen, making it smell like spices and home. Want to see if he's this passionate about everything or just bikes and food.
Want to know what sounds he makes when he comes.
"How long are you staying?" Toby asks, and I realize I've been staring at Jason again.
"Indefinitely." I drag my attention back to the table with effort. "Bought a house over on Maple Street."
Robin's fork clatters against his plate. "You bought a house?"
