Elijah
I usually enjoy game nights with my brothers and River. It's loud, competitive, full of shit-talking and cheap snacks.
It's our thing
But tonight?
I’d trade every round, every sarcastic comment, every dramatic accusation of cheating just to be stretched out on the couch with Willow tucked into my side. I’d rather watch her smile at something ridiculous on the TV, feel her shake with quiet laughter against my chest, press a kiss into her hair when she doesn't see it coming.
But I’m stuck here with these idiots.
It's Sunday. I figured everyone would either be hungover and feeling sorry for themselves after the Halloween party last night, or Ezra would still be with the woman he took home.
Ezra looks like someone kicked his dog. If he had one.
Turns out the woman he took home left halfway through sex. Didn't give him the decency to fake a headache. Just got up and left. Pretty funny, to be honest, and everyone else agrees. But Ezra has been in a foul mood ever since, pretending he doesn't care while very clearly caring.
My mind keeps drifting to Willow.
She's at Quinn's tonight, and I’m glad. With Leon's birthday coming up, I didn't want her sitting all alone to dwell on it and upset herself. I noticed she's been quiet the past few days, andthen I found her this morning staring at her wardrobe. Well, the boxes inside that she still hasn't unpacked.
She’s not spoken about them, and I've not asked.
Yet.
“I’m just saying, you don’t get to take the piss out of me when you're a fucking virgin, Ethan.”
I barely glance up from my cards as Ezra swings a punch into his twin's shoulder. Ethan recoils, shoving him back with an offended glare.
“I’m not a virgin,” he snaps, adjusting his glasses. “I just don't feel the need to dive into every woman's bed the second she looks at me, you degenerate.”
Ezra clutches his chest dramatically. “It's called being charming. You should try it sometime.”
“There's nothing wrong with having standards,” Elliot mutters from across the table, fanning his cards like he's presiding over a boardroom instead of game night. Calm. Judging. Mildly disappointed in our youngest brother. “I have plenty of fun with my wife. You're just a man whore.”
He scoffs before leaning over and shoving my arm. “Elijah. Back me up. Now that you're all single and ready to mingle, I’m not a whore, right?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose because I know he's genuinely asking. He wants validation from me. The man who has only been with two women.
And he absolutely knows I’m not single.
“Don’t drag me into your stupid arguments,” I mutter, sitting further back in my chair. “I’m Switzerland.”
“Switzerland?”
“Neutral and minding my own god damn business,” I reply dryly.
He narrows his eyes. “You used to be fun.”
“And you're still annoying.”
A cushion is launched at my head with impressive accuracy.
It hits me square in the face.
“Point made.” I drop the cushion beside me.
He turns, eyes lighting up when they land on Emmet. “Come on, Emmet. Back me up. You're all dark and brooding. Girls must be lining up outside your humble abode.”
