Chace nods solemnly. “So it is recorded.”
“Please kill me.” Trey mutters.
“We booking it for tomorrow?” Chace asks. “I know a place. Clean. Discreet.”
“You have a piercing guy?” Trey snaps.
“Don’t we all?” Sam says, shrugging.
Trey groans again, full-body this time. “I need therapy.”
“You’ll need ice,” Mac offers casually, picking up her fork.
“Could probably use someone who can play the recorder, too.” Chace adds.
Sam blinks. “Why the recorder?”
“So he can learn how to hold his dick properly after it’s done.”
That breaks everyone. Even Trey wheezes out a laugh. We eat until the plates are empty. Mac rises to clear them and I’m right behind her, brushing my hand along the small of her back. The sound of laughter fades into the background.
We move around each other like we’ve done it for years. I dry while she rinses, hands brushing now and then. It’s easy. Intimate.
“That was really well played, angel.” I say quietly, mouth twitching.
She glances at me. “It was weird at first, but I guess kind of cute how official you all take it…does this make me part of the Brotherhood of the Bets?”
“Of course.”
That spark in her eyes softens. “Thought you’d be disappointed I didn’t lose.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed,” I say, leaning closer. “We have a lifetime of bets to make and to lose.”
She laughs, easy and warm. “Bring it on Mr. Dale.”
“I should have known you’d play. But you never have to change yourself to keep up with us, angel.”
She wipes her hands on a towel, expression sobering. “I’m not trying to keep up. I just… I want to feel alive again.”
“With me?” I ask.
She nods.
“Then come on, angel,” I grin. “Let’s make sure our loser survives the night.”
She laughs, and I swear the sound could bring me back from the dead.
I take her hand, and together we walk back into the chaos.
Chapter 15
Kayla
The morning hushes around me like a held breath.
I blink into the light pouring through the window, the sky a soft wash of lavender and gold as the sun fights its way through a bank of clouds.
The room is quiet, but not silent. Downstairs, I catch the hum of the kettle, the faint creak of floorboards, a burst of laughter—Trey, probably.
