Warren taps his pen impatiently. “Come on. It’s obvious.”
I stare at the scribble of black ink on the paper. I’m on the opposing team, so I keep my guesses to myself. It’s obviously a… Who am I kidding? It’s a fucking dick.
“Time!” their father, Oscar, shouts. He’s the spitting image of both his sons, though more like Ben in his personality. Warren doesn’t seem to share his broody presence with any member of his family. His stern demeanor is more lighthearted here, especially toward his nephew, who seems besotted with his “grumpy” uncle.
Every time they interact, my ovaries go berserk, as if they didn’t get the memo the man already impregnated me.
Because yes, I’m attracted to my baby daddy. And yes, ourbedroom chemistry was through the roof in the motel. But that was then, and this is now. Meaning, I need my body to stop tingling every time I glance over at him in his maroon knit sweater and dark blue jeans clinging to his muscular thighs and tight ass. Don’t get me started on the beard and smattering of gray hair at his temples.
Friends and co-parents, Harriet.
I pluck a cube of cheese off my plate and pop it into my mouth, wondering when it’s appropriate to go up to the buffet table for round two.
The sofa dips as Warren settles next to me on the sectional, his leg brushing mine, and eyes my plate. “Want me to get you some more food?”
“Are you inside my brain?” I laugh.
Confused, he shakes his head. “Should I be?”
I bite my lip. “No, actually. I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Especially as I’m recalling how his quads felt under my palms as his cock glided in and out of my mouth.
He leans toward me, murmuring softly. “I hope this isn’t too much for you. If you want to go lie down or escape for?—”
He jumps when I set my hand on his knee.
“I’m having the best time. Seriously. I was an anxious mess earlier, but everyone has made me feel so welcome.” I glance around the room, smiling. “It reminds me a little of my family gatherings.”
I turn to find him watching me intently. “I—welike having you here.”
He’s still bent forward, eyes level with mine. “You never mentioned Marcus is your captain. Is it weird?”
Flip goes the switch, and Warren’s relaxed exterior evaporates. “It didn’t seem important.”
I frown. “Isn’t the whole point of me being here, of us spending time together, to get to know one another? Yourboss also being your brother-in-law seems a little important.”
His expression doesn’t change.
“I want to know about your job. Which station you’re at? How long have you worked there? You must be busy this time of year.” The tension filling the air is difficult to pinpoint. Nothing about the way Marcus and Warren act toward each other gives me reason to think they don’t get along. Actually, the opposite. “You probably want to switch off after a long shift, and I get it, I don’t always like talking about my job either?—”
His gaze darts to the other side of the room as he swallows deeply. I almost think he’s going to avoid the questions when his response slips through gritted teeth. “I’ve worked at Station 82 for four years.”
It’s something at least. “Where did you work before then?”
He stills, body going taut. “Before?”
“Your dad mentioned you’ve been in the fire service for almost twenty years.” I’m regretting probing him as the discomfort rolls off him in waves.
“Before doesn’t… It doesn’t matter. It’s the past.”
Are we still talking about his job?
Warren springs to his feet. “Excuse me.”
Without sparing me a backward glance, he strides past the buffet table and out of the room. My mouth hangs open, something between an apology and what-the-fuck-just-happened sitting on the tip of my tongue. His parents and siblings watch him leave, and from the tight smiles they offer me, his reaction isn’t surprising to them.
It seems I’ve really put my foot in it. I suspect Warren wouldn’t appreciate me chasing after him and, from what little I do know about him, expressing himself doesn’t always come easy. Prime example: his brother’s wedding.
“Harriet,” Diana calls. “Are you ready for your round?”
