“You’re just as good at that in the morning,” she whispers as she pulls out of the kiss.
“I can do it all day long.”
My stupid stomach grumbles again.
She flashes a grin. “Maybe after food? There’s jam in the fridge.” She sets two biscuits and two slices of bacon from another pan on the plate with the omelet. “I’ll be just a minute for my omelet.”
By the time I have both of our coffees, the jam, butter, and my plate at the table in the front room, she’s serving up her own omelet too.
Instead of across from each other, like we were last Sunday night when I shared my beef and barley stew with her, we sit huddled together on one end, her at the head of the table, me on the side next to her.
Her feet tease mine under the table while we eat and trade stories about the craziest things we’ve ever seen in life.
Mine includes discovering I’m accidental temporary roommates with a billionaire heiress pretending to be a housekeeper who can cook a killer breakfast.
Hers includes taking down an intruder in a cabin with hair dye, flour, and a cast-iron skillet.
After breakfast, when I tell her I’ll clean, she insists on helping.
Though by helping, I really mean seducing me in the kitchen until I’m banging her against the fridge.
I repay the favor by helping her shower.
There are a few more orgasms involved.
Enough that when we make it back to the living room and I get the fire rekindled, we both pass out on the couch for a long nap.
And thank fuck we’re dressed, because when we wake up, the triplets are staring at us.
“We knocked,” Decker says dryly as Margot—Margie Margie Margie, I remind myself—yeah, asMargielunges off of me.
Leaving a little bit of drool on my arm where she was sleeping.
“Three times,” Lucky adds. He’s smirking.
Jack’s staring at the ceiling. “I told them we should come back later. Or, you know,call first.”
Margie smooths her hair down, her hand freezing just below her ear.
She’s not wearing her glasses.
“Bathroom,” she stutters. “Back in a minute. Bathroom.”
After she disappears down the hallway, all three of the triplets assume matching stances.
Legs wide, arms crossed, and some form ofwhat the fuck are you doing with my sister?etched on their faces.
“What?” I say. “You know how hard it was to keep our stories straight last night? Wore us both the fuck out.”
Decker pulls a strip of condoms out of his back pocket.
Look exactly like the kind I bought yesterday.
“Found these on the ground by your truck,” he says.
“I told you to leave them alone,” Jack mutters.
“I’m just glad you’re practicing safe sex with whoever you’re old enough to practice it with,” Lucky says. “Can’t be too careful. You wouldn’t believe the STIs I get to treat at the retirement home. Those people are frisky, and they think vasectomies and menopause mean the danger’s all gone.”
