Page 39 of Colton’s Mate

“Me getting killed by Caleb wasn’t going to help her.”

“And how much did your ‘notgetting killed’ accomplish?” They were yelling at each other now. “At least I wouldn’t try to squash her into a submissive little house elf. I’d treat her right, and make sure she understood how awesome she is.”

“Yeah, for the five minutes before you talked her clothes off. And maybe the one point five minutes after, until you were done and fell asleep.”

“That’s torn it,” Kitty murmured.

Colt hauled off and punched Jason in the face. The crow swung back, and in seconds they’d broken through the porch railing—again—and were rolling in the weedy front yard, pounding on each other.

It felt good.

But before they’d even had time to bloody themselves up, Brandon strode into the middle of the yard, a spatula in his hand. Apparently he’d been making breakfast.

“For fuck’s sake, again?” he yelled. “Break it up.”

His alpha dominance rolled out in all directions. Even Jason obviously felt it, and he wasn’t technically bonded to the crew.

They rolled off each other and lay there, panting. “You two need to fucking stop it before I stab you with kitchen tools,” Brandon growled. “I’m not having you brawling over Callie.”

“Why not?” Colt said. “We have to brawl over something.” His leopard needed the release, and Jason was pissed off all the time and acting like a dick.

Although to be fair, Colt and Remy could both be annoying as fuck. It was a well-honed art form.

Her voice thick with Hostess frosting, Kitty said, “Then fucking brawl over something else. Because of, women are not objects to be fought over and awarded to the winner. Don’t make me bite you.”

“Fine.” Colt got to his feet and tried to brush the dirt off himself. Fail. “We’ll fight over who gets to watch their team on the big screen tonight.”

“Me,” Brandon growled. “End of fight. Now, can we get some fucking work done on the house today?”

“Sure. We can always fight later over what kind of pizza to order during the game.”

“Pepperoni or sausage,” Remy said.

“Or what sport to watch.”

“Basketball or hockey.”

Kitty chimed in, “Tennis or gymnastics.” All four of the guys said “No” simultaneously. Kitty pouted and took a bite of her cupcake. “I need more girls in this house. Or people with better taste in sports.”

By now Remy was on a roll. “So many things to debate over. Chocolate or vanilla. Plain or peanut. Crunchy or smooth.”

“Coke or Pepsi,” Colt said, feeling a little better. Remy always knew how to calm him down. Usually by being a doof.

Jason snarled, “Dick or pecker?”

Remy said, “I’m Dick, he’s Pecker.” He pointed at Colt.

“No,” said Colt. “I’m Dick. You’re Pecker.”

Brandon was just standing there, hands on his hips, glaring at the three of them. “I want to kill you all so bad right now.”

At that moment, a soccer ball came flying through the air out of nowhere and hit Brandon in the butt. Colt looked over to see Phantom Nick, the panther ghost, sitting in the middle of the yard looking innocent.

Brandon turned around and glared at the ghost.

“Fuck you all,” he muttered. “Jason, take my truck and go pick up that load of lumber I ordered. Colt, clean yourself up and finish laying out the plans for the third-floor bathroom. Nick, stop throwing shit at me or I swear I’ll come to the spirit world, find the light, and hurl your ghostly ass into it. And Kitty, babe, can you get me a reservation on a flight to Bali?”

“Sure.” Kitty licked frosting off the top of her cupcake. “Round trip or one way?”