“That’s disgusting.”
He turns around and laughs at me, coffee splashing out of his mug. Then something must catch his eye, because he turns his attention back to the garden. “What the fuck?” he mutters.
I close the distance and peer out the window. Beyond the rhododendrons, Jake is tiptoeing to retrieve the jacket he was wearing last night. He picks it up then casts a hopeful glance to the upper levels, before backing up excruciatingly slowly.
“Huh,” Beck says. “Not sure what happened there.”
Whatever happened was not in the house. Not sure if I feel better about it.
“Are you wearing my jacket?” Lane screeches, startling us both into turning around. We puff ourselves up and stay shoulder-to-shoulder to hide the view from the window. Some sort of weird fraternal instinct makes us want to keep this guy outside of Lane’s line of sight, in case she decides he should have coffee with us. She’s wearing her pajamas; her makeup is gone. All signs pointing to a restful night alone. No reason to muddy the waters.
“Finders keepers,” Beck deadpans.
“Fuck finders,” Lane lashes out, lunging at Beck.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Beck says, lifting his cup of coffee. “Already had a close call.”
“Take it off!” she says, pulling at the jacket, so focused on her mission, there’s no chance she’s looking outside.
He moves away from the window, leading her to the other side of the kitchen. “No-no said I should wear something. He can’t stand how sexy I am.”
“Ugh,” Lane growls, giving up the fight. “Fine. I don’t want to see your nipples at breakfast.”
“Speaking of breakfast, where’s Willow?” Beck asks. “She makes a mean oatmeal.”
“You can make your oatmeal yourself,” I grunt as my eye is drawn to the kitchen entrance.
Willow is standing there, a smile spreading on her morning-soft face. She walks to me,places a kiss on the corner of my mouth, and turns around to Beck and Lane. “Is Halloween early this year?”
My whole body feels live wired. Her lips barely grazed me, yet I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move.
“Man, No-no doesn’t do well with PDA,” Beck drops. “Look at him. Flaming up.”
Willow swings back to me and sets her hand on my chest.What is she doing?I know we’re supposed to make this look real, but does she need to…
“Aww… is that right?” she coos.
I guess she does.
Winking at me, she runs her hand on my cheek. “Or are you too prudish, Becky?”
This time, Lane snorts.
“I’ll make oatmeal for everyone,” Willow says, turning her back to my front, still dangerously close to me. “How many of us this morning?”
Lane turns red, Beck laughs, and I try to avoid stroking the spots her lips and hands touched.
“I only see four of us,” I finally say, catching up to the fact that my wife is up to speed on last night’s developments.
“You snooze, you lose. Noted,” Willow answers.
The implications of that answer are too complex for me to handle this morning, so I… redirectagain.
“It’s community dinner tonight at Lazy’s. I expect both of you to be there and bring food. And cash.”
“Just us? Not Willow?” Beck grunts.
Willow quirks an eyebrow. “I’m his wife. I go where he goes,” she says, stirring the oatmeal while my inner caveman is pounding his chest.
