“Uh, I know it’s none of my business, but why won’t you fuck him? Sounds like a no strings attached kind of thing, and he’s pretty.”
Hunt’s hands ball into fists, and he takes a breath, releasing it slowly, attempting to exhale the tension.
“I…” he trails off.
But he doesn’t have to say it.Riley’s aren’t the only strings that can attach.
“Look, it’s just not a good idea. Anyway, he’ll be gone by the time you get back. Can we have a do-over?”
Hunter’s still watching the door. Hunter’s always watching Riley’s wake.
“We can have a do-over.”
“Okay. Do not get married in Vegas, Dirk. I will lock your ass in a cement cell.”
“Whoa, not getting married in Vegas. Also, Trav and I are waiting till marriage to have sex, you have nothing to worry about.” Yeah, I can’t even say that with a straight face, but he deserves it.
He cuffs me upside the head and then pulls it in to kiss my crown.
“Love you, kid,” he says, but then he frowns, his gaze zoning in on my hip. Fuck. My shirt’s ridden up just enough. I’m so busted. “Is that a tattoo?”
Crash!
White pieces shatter, spilling across the deck. Riley’s at the bay window, holding a second piece of Hunter’s kitchenware hostage.
“Was that my favorite pie plate?” Hunter growls.
“Don’t know, but if you don’t get back in here, this one loses its life.” Riley holds it over the windowsill.
“No.No!Don’t you fucking dare, Riley.”
But I guess he doesn’t move fast enough for Riley.Smash!“I don’t like to be kept waiting.” He turns heel, probably to find more of Hunter’s prized kitchenware to murder.
“Don’t think I’ll forget about that tattoo, but … shit, I gotta go.” There isn’t a trace of anger on his face. It’s something like the way I look at Travis when I know we’re about to have a game of cat and mouse.
Yeah, my brother’s so fucked.
“I’m team captain!” Sutter says.
“I’m other team captain,” Casey shouts. “And before you say one fucking word, Elkington, this is our bachelor day. I hereby declare that you’re to keep your trap shut about your stats for one fucking day. A penalty for every stat that comes out of your rotten mouth.”
Rhett smirks, knowing Casey’s talking to him and not Maverick, who’s also here. We’ll be on a plane to Vegas tonight, but these are our last hours in the house, so we organized a final game of street hockey. Usually, the bachelor party’s in Vegas, but since the wedding is, we went with street hockey.
“Don’t they want to play on the same team?” Trav whispers in my ear.
“That’s not a conversation you wanna start. Trust me.”
“If you try to separate us like you did last time, Sutter, I’m hiding all your bandanas when we’re in the new house,” Dash says.
The vein in Sutter’s forehead pulses.
“Let’s keep the same pattern we had when we played at Meyer Central,” Casey says, before Sutter explodes. “Jack and Mercy, you’re on separate teams. Pick. Stacey, Dash, you can go with Sutter.”
“I’ll also take Rhett, since Logan’s not playing,” Sutter says.
“Yes, please take Rhett. Dirk, you’re my Rachel, and I want the other Elkington.”
Some of the other Meyers are here, but Rachel’s hit that teen era where hanging out with your family isn’t cool.
