Sam smirks. “Just think, you’re going to have to go a week or two without touching it.”
Chace throws in, “RIP to your sex life. Gone but never forgotten.”
I grin, arms crossed as I lean against the counter. “Who knew the great Trey Baker could be brought low by a single high card draw… all the sex you could be having…”
Trey flips us all off, grabs the bottle, and knocks back one shot. Then another. Then a third.
Silence stretches as he slams the bottle down with finality, like a man heading off to war.
He glares at Mac. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
She blows him a kiss. “And you’re lucky I didn’t make you get it pierced and dyed.”
He groans and storms out of the kitchen.
“Somebody get the fucking ice ready!” Trey calls out.
The room erupts.
Even Mac’s laughing now, bent over the counter, hair falling in her face.
And me? I just soak it all in—this noise, this chaos, these people I’d go to war for.
Especially her.
Chapter 17
Kayla
The guys leave in a blur of noise and laughter—Chace calling Trey a pussy, Sam egging them on with that deep belly laugh of his, and Trey swearing he’s going to make them all get a matching cock ring until Logan slams the door shut behind them with a smirk.
“You reckon Trey will get it done?” I ask, still laughing as I wipe flour from my hands.
Logan grins, strolling over with the slow, deliberate gait that always makes my breath catch. “Trey’s too proud. He’ll go through with it.” He slips behind me at the counter, close enoughthat I can feel the heat of his chest against my back. “Besides, he lost fair and square.”
His hands settle on my hips. I try to stay focused on wiping the counter, but his fingers trace lazy circles under my shirt, and my brain turns to syrup.
“How is it even possible,” I murmur, “that you’re this hot while surrounded by flour and cookie dough?”
Logan laughs low against my ear. “It’s a gift.”
God, it is.
The man is carved from dreams—broad chest inked with stories I haven’t even heard yet, golden-brown skin stretched tight over lean muscle, the sharp dip of his V-line disappearing beneath those low-slung joggers. His black hair’s a mess from his shower, his electric-blue eyes still heavy-lidded from the way we tangled up on the sofa not an hour ago.
And he’s mine.
I glance at him sideways, heart skipping like a damn stone on a lake.
Will this feeling ever fade?
Looking at him now, the answer is a quiet, certain no.
He reaches over and flicks a bit of dough at me. It lands just below my collarbone.
“Logan!” I gasp, laughing as I swipe at it.
He grins and leans in, licking the spot clean. “Waste not, baby.”
