It’s ridiculous to feel this way, obviously.
Unlessevil and deeply fucked in the headis his type.
Keep dreaming, asshole.
Oak takes a sip of coffee, sending him the finger.
“I didn’t even see you come in,” Rahm says, still egging him on. “What’d you get, like, three hours of sleep?”
Oakley’s grin is of the shit-eating variety, and my stomach takes another dive.
“I haven’t gone to bed yet.”
I step to the back of the group, my mood darkening. Truett, who’s become a good buddy as well as my barber over the last year, catches my eye. He sends me a smile and pulls his shit-stirring boyfriend into his arms.
“I’m so proud of you for organizing this, Rahm. But Oak’s right. You’re fizzing around like you’ve been given three shots of espresso and a bump of coke.”
Rami grumbles but agrees to tone it down at least until the sun comes up.
Hopper sidles up next to me. “You okay?” he asks, his thick New York accent gravelly with sleep.
I toss my coffee in the trash. “Yeah, sure.”
His eyes follow the movement, but he keeps his mouth shut. He knows me pretty well. Better than the Wildlings.
Hopper’s one of the uncles, and now that he and his husband and their newly adopted daughter, Bailey, live in Austin full-time, he’s my best friend. Honestly, if I can’t have Cupcake here with me, my emotional support serial killer is a pretty good substitute.
Mav stops by with a tray of foil-wrapped breakfast tacos from our favorite Tex-Mex place. He hands me a couple of chorizo-and-egg tacos, each with three fire stickers.
“My dad almost took yours, but I saved him from burning his lips off.”
I dip my chin. “Thanks, Mav. The charred serrano is my favorite.”
He kisses my cheek and moves on.
I take a bite. It’s so good that I almost forget that Oakley got laid last night.
Almost. Definitely good enough that I might have to find some asshole to choke to death after this.
As I hum a happy tune, a thought occurs to me. I turn to Hop.
“Wait. I thought this was just a Wildling thing. The dads are here too?”
Hopper bites into his bean and cheese, nodding. “Mm-hmm. We got on the group chat last night and were talking about how we were jealous that our kids get to do all the fun charity work. I said there was a simple solution, and voilà. We’re all here at the asscrack of dawn to build some shit.”
That’s…great.
“All of you?” I ask, looking around.
“Of course. We can’t expect you to take the giving clause seriously if we don’t.”
The giving clause is attached to our trust funds—no charity,no trust fund. Seems like a fair exchange. Especially since the Wildlings insisted on cutting me in on the fund.
While Hop’s talking, I’m still looking around, hoping that…Oh.
Oakley’s dadsarehere. Ronan’s glaring at me, his mouth a hard line. Thane, his enormously muscled husband, puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, but Ronan shakes it off.
“Well…shit,” Hopper mutters, standing closer than before. “I forgot they’re on the chat as well. They didn’t say anything, so it didn’t occur to me that they’d show up. I’m sorry. I’d have warned you.”
