Fuck. Bit too early for that, but under the circumstances, it was pertinent. Knowing my kids’ names gave me some relief.
“Slade Junior,” I teased my mate, gripping her knee again and squeezing.
She snorted and smacked my hand. “No way.”
“Reginald.” I put the next one to her, getting off on riling her.
She snorted again and pressed her palm over mine as I inched it up her dress, needing the silken kiss of her inner thigh. “I know what you’re up to.”
“You’re no fun, Nurse A.” I patted and abandoned her knee.
Castor leaned back in his chair, the epitome of composed and calm, like Zethan, and I wanted to know how those assholes did it in this chaotic and uncertain climate. “What about Fable for a girl?”
“Nice,” Zethan backed him.
“Biased!” Alaric hooted and Aaliyah giggled.
Fable. Story. Bookworm. Genius. Right up his alley. “Pity you’re not having a girl, asshole.”
“Do we all get a say in the names?” Important question from Castor.
I shrugged, leaving it up to my old lady.
She glanced around the table. “You’re all their daddies. It’s up to you. I’m cool with an individual or collective choice.”
We all murmured our agreement for collective.
“I like Maddison or Belle for a girl.” Zethan scrunched up his empty sandwich bag. He ate fast, hoovering it down like an animal surrounded by bigger, meaner beasts ready to steal its meal.
“They’re cute,” Aaliyah mused, finishing the last of hers, even though she started before him.
Zethan used the distraction to peek at the pastries, and Aaliyah pretended to smack his hand away. He slipped out a chocolate eclair for himself, minus the cream I stole for Aaliyah, and passed the bag to me.
Being an asshole, I swiped another flick of cream from the bun. “That was for stealing my eclair.”
“Asshole.” Zethan chomped into his pastry and smiled like a fucker, enjoying his tainted dessert.
This time my mate complied and sucked the whipped cream from my finger. “Good girl.”
Good fucking times. Us sitting around talking shit and enjoying our woman’s company. Zethan and me arguing like we were young idiots. Me teasing my old lady. Alaric being a smart ass. Castor giving us shit. My old lady being sexy, funny, considerate, and fucking incredible.
Examining the rest of the desserts, I chose a vanilla slice and bit into it the same way Zethan did, custard spilling over my finger and flaky pastry crumbling on my jeans. I’d save some custard for my old lady. Those succulent lips weren’t getting away without sucking my fingers again and stealing my darkness for at least the span of lunch.
Aaliyah’s aqua gaze traveled to Castor. “What about Abayad for a boy? It’s Arabic for white. My little angel.”
Castor’s real name. The man he had to kill to become the man he was. Perfect fucking name. If he wanted it.
His eyes misted over, and the bond quivered from the touching gesture and tribute to him. “It’s perfect, Sorceress.”
She smiled, satisfied. One down. Three to go.
Alaric rubbed his hands together in thought, as if he wanted to research some names before he threw any out for consideration. Cautious was always his approach. “I’m going to think about this.”
Fair enough. Some men didn’t like to be put on the spot.
Castor removed an apple Danish for himself and Aaliyah, leaving the custard tart and berry Danish up for grabs.
“Whatever names we choose,” she said, picking at her pastry, “they have to be good enough to yell when the kids are naughty.”
