The living room was empty.
Since Atticus’s truck was parked on the street, he knew he was home. Or at least, he’d been there at some point. There was always the chance he was at Carson’s. The idea that he was over there, possibly in Carson’s bed, pissed him off. At the same time, it turned him on.
“Fuck,” he muttered, tossing his keys on the table.
“Talkin’ to yourself?”
Slade spun around to see Atticus coming from the hallway to his bedroom.
“I … uh … didn’t think you were home.”
“My truck’s parked outside.”
Slade shrugged. No one said he was thinking logically these days.
“You have dinner yet?” he asked, more so to change the subject.
Atticus joined him in the kitchen. “Carson’s cooking.”
“Oh.”
“He invited us both.”
Slade met his gaze, not bothering to mask his disappointment. “Oh.”
Atticus stared at him for several heartbeats, and Slade knew he had something on his mind.
Please don’t suggest we talk. Please, please, pl—
“Should we talk about what happened this morning?”
No, they shouldn’t. They should never evereverdiscuss what happened. Then he could go on pretending it was all a dream.
“Slade?”
Dammit. “What’s there to talk about?”
“Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact you fucked me while Carson watched.”
Ouch. There was a little too much heat in Atticus’s tone. And not the good kind.
“And then you sucked his dick,” Slade shot back.
“Nice observation,” Atticus snapped. “If I recall, you watched.”
“You were inmybed. What was I supposed to do?”
Jesus. This was not how he saw the evening going. The last thing he wanted was to fight with Atticus about this.
Atticus’s eyes narrowed. “Trust me when I tell you, I didn’t intend to spend the night in your bed. In case you were too drunk to remember, you begged us to.”
Us?
Slade frowned. He definitely didn’t remember that part.
“We both tried to leave. More than once. You begged us to stay. So we did.”
“You stayed because I begged? How amenable of you.”
