“Laugh it up now. You two are going to miss me when I’m gone.”
“I highly doubt that. Maybe we should put up a countdown calendar just to show you how much we can’t wait until you leave.” I suck a noodle though my lips, mockingly.
Reese squints at me. “Smartass!” He flings a forkful of spaghetti at me.
I laugh and scream all at the same time. Then I retaliate.
“Look who’s taking? You’re incapable of being nice!”
Spaghetti starts flying back and forth with Dev dying on the sidelines. Loud, deep bellyaching laughter ringing around us.
Reese and I both pause, realizing Dev is still clean as a whistle and then simultaneously turn our attack on him.
The assault turns into an all-out spaghetti three-way.
By the time everything calms down, there are strings of spaghetti in my hair, on the walls, and red sauce smeared all over our clothes. It looks like we barely survived a bloodbath.
I don’t know how or why, but the tension breaks amidst the laughter, and I suddenly find myself bound to these two men in a way I can’t measure. A way that’s not seen but felt.
“You have one . . .” Dev pulls a piece of spaghetti from the collar of my V-neck t-shirt.
“That was my hit,” Reese declares proudly, sucking up some pasta.
Dear God. What have I gotten myself into?
* * *
I wipeoff the sauce from my chest and change into the shirt Dev lent me. It’s about three sizes too big, but I improvise and tie a knot on the side with the excess material. When I walk out of the bathroom, I come face-to-face with two gorgeous, shirtless twins who are inked all over.
Holy. Fuck.
Dev is moving around the room cleaning up while Reese lounges with his hands behind his head on the bed.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t . . . Too late. My eyes nearly swallow their bodies whole. Both ripped and bulging in all the right places.
I shove down the desire as I’m lashed over and over by dual Apollo’s belts. You know, those V-shaped muscles men have that make women stupid.
Yeah. Right now, I’m a fucking idiot.
“Looks like you’re just about done here.” I grab the empty plates and bring them into the kitchen.
Dev follows with a wad of dirty paper towels. “Looks good.”
“What does?” I drop the dishes into the sink.
“My shirt on you.” He tugs at the knot, running his finger provocatively over the top of my jeans where my skin is exposed.
“You have no shame.”
“No, not when it comes to you.” Dev leans in closer, and my breathing ceases to exist.
Even though his lips only lightly brush mine, they feel like an anchor trapping my wading emotions.
“Dev.” I place my hands on his chest and sink my fingernails into his skin. I’ve never seen him shirtless before. Pantless, yes, but shirtless . . . He’s breathtaking, just like Reese. A sleeve covers his entire right arm, the skin made to look like it’s shredded with writing peeking out underneath. The tattoo reaches all the way up to his neck with another down his side and one over his ribs. Both inscriptions.
“What does this say?” I point to his arm.
He places a palm over his triceps. “Lyrics to my favorite song.”
