Not that it diminishes how sexy Elijah is. Obviously, I think he’s a hunk—more masculine than Gabriel in that quiet, effortless way.
Gabriel’s somewhere in the middle.
Kind of like me, I guess.
Ugh.
He’s not anything like me.
Taking another sip of my coffee, I keep watching him… admiring his stupid good looks as he runs his fingers through thick waves of hair. Strands fall right back into place around his face, like they know exactly where to land.
He’s so good-looking, he could probably model if someone gave him the chance… which I am definitely not about to do.
Why do I have to be such an ass?
He’s the reason Elijah and I found our way back to each other, after all. And he’s such a good father to Ana. Emilee too. He accepted her right into his family without any hesitation. Welcomed both of us into his world when he didn’t have to.
But that’s him—a really nice guy.
I’m the ass.
I glance sideways. Noah’s face is still flushed that beautiful shade of pale pink, lips soft and doughy.
My hands skate across my thighs as he leans toward Gabriel and smiles.
Such a pretty smile—simple and sweet.
It’s addictive.
Just like he is.
It’s messed up in a way because he’s not someone I’d actually date. Or even fuck. Okay, that’s a lie. I’d definitely fuck him. But that aside, what I’m trying to say is he’s not my type. He’s not Elijah.
And how in the world could he not realize who he was dating?
I mean, do they even talk? Probably not. They probably spend all their time fucking.
“Goddamn it!” I hiss, scalding my tongue and spitting hot coffee onto the table.
All eyes snap toward me.
Thankfully, I’m saved by the chime of the elevator.
“Hey, Dads!” Ana singsongs, practically bouncing into the penthouse, full of her usual flair.
I’m pretty sure I’m included in that fatherly greeting—she’s made it abundantly clear that she’s over the moon about having three gay men in her life. That said, I’m still Mr. J most of the time, which is perfectly fine by me. Honestly, it’d be weird if she started calling me Dad.
Emilee skips in right behind her, looking like her twin, hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“Hey, Dad.” She waves, and my heart melts—scorched tongue and all.
Rounding the table, she makes a beeline for Gabriel, blowing a kiss to each side of his face, clearly comfortable with the European custom she picked up on her trip to Spain.
Then she looks across the table—and her eyes light up like someone just flipped a switch.
“Hey, Noah!” she bursts out, her grin stretching ear to ear.
She bounces over to him, arms looping around his shoulders, her lips grazing his cheek—too familiar, too easy. My chest knots.
