Killian beams like a kid whose older brother just told the world he likes him.
“Aww, I love you too, Bro.”
Killian puckers his lips and tries to kiss Bishop’s cheek but Bishop raises his hand and pushes his face away. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”
Biting back my laughter, I make a note of Bishop’s goals and then turn my attention to Killian. “And what about you, Killian? What’s important to you?’
“My goal,” Killian says, leaning into the camera like he’s about to divulge state secrets, “is to strike out every smug asshat first-rounder who’s ever said pitchers ‘aren’t real athletes.’”
Bishop elbows him so hard the camera shakes. “He’s joking.”
“I’m not,” Killian mutters.
“It’s charming,” I reassure them. “In a mildly terrifying way.”
My phone lights up beside me again.
A second text from Harrison.
Harrison
Or coffee? Doesn’t have to be lunch.
Harrison
Unless you WANT it to be lunch.
Harrison
Do you like hotdogs?
Harrison
Ignore that.
My face heats instantly.
Fantastic.
The triplets aren’t blind. They catch the shift in my expression like they’re watching the Jumbotron at a championship game.
Shepherd leans forward. “You can answer that if you want.”
I freeze.
Play it cool, Harper. Play it?—
“Look at her smiling,” Killian gasps. “Like…smiling-smiling.”
Bishop squints thoughtfully. “Is it work-related?”
“Don’t ask that,” Shepherd murmurs. “Not our business.”
“No,” Killian fires back. “It’s not work related. It’s totally a dude.”
“I did not—there is no—” I point at them accusingly. “You three don’t get to interrogateme. I interrogateyou. That’s how this works.”
Killian grins, wicked and delighted. “Told ya.”
