Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“What will I tell my dad?”
“Say you’re staying with Imani,” I suggest, running my fingers gently over the tender skin on the back of her hand.
She bites her bottom lips, eyes following a single leaf as it tumbles acrobatically. Around us, students dart in every direction, but here, on this bench, it’s like we’re in our own little bubble.
“I don’t like lying,” she finally says. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“It won’t be forever.” I press a kiss to the top of her head, wishing I could say more. We’ve made some promises to each other, but this is far from a standard college romance. With four of us in the equation, nothing is simple.
Riley doesn’t agree or disagree, but I try not to read too much into it. I’m not an expert on relationships, but even I know that taking it slow is important. Scaring her off is my biggest fear. There’s always a chance that she’ll wake up one morning and think, what the hell am I doing, fucking my triplet stepbrothers?—and who could blame her?
“Just for one night. Our next game is away. We should make the most of our time together. Plus, Jacob has offered to cook, and that’s something not to be missed.”
“If he doesn’t cook very often, doesn’t that mean the food is going to suck?”
I laugh, leaning in to kiss the tip of her cold nose. “There is every chance of that, Riles, but Jacob doesn’t do anything by halves. He’ll probably whip up something worthy of a Michelin star because failure isn’t an option for him.”
“Yeah, his perfectionist tendencies make me nervous?”
“Why?”
She touches my chest, playing with the zipper on my jacket. “Because I’m not perfect. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He’s going to wake up one day and realize that.”
My heart squeezes, and I cup her cheek. “He doesn’t need you to be perfect, baby. None of us do. We just need you to be you.”
“That’s what you say.”
“Jacob doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. None of us do.”
Riley’s cheeks, flushed from the cold, lose some of their rosiness, and I hate the doubt that’s crept into her expression.
“If this is going to work, we have to trust each other,” I remind her, brushing my thumb over her cheekbone.
“Yeah,” she says, but it has a weak quality to it I don’t like. But then she follows up with, “Okay, I’ll tell Dad I’m studying late with Imani.”
Relief washes over me, like stepping into the locker room after a brutal third period. “You won’t regret it,” I promise.
***
The smell of garlic, rosemary, and bacon hits me the second we cross the threshold. Riley tips her pretty nose in the air, sniffs, and raises her eyebrows. “Okay, maybe I was wrong about the food sucking.”
“Told you,” I grin as I slip my hand around her waist, my stomach rumbling.
Jacob’s voice carries from the kitchen, muttered curses turning the air blue. Shawn’s laughter follows, loud and obnoxious.
“I swear to God if you burn that sauce—” Jacob is standing at the stove, his sleeves rolled up, a smudge of flour on his cheek that I’m going to give him hell about later, and Shawn is leaning against the counter, sipping from a bottle of beer, looking far too amused.
“Dinner and a show,” Shawn drawls, lifting his beer in mock toast, then approaching Riley to tug her flush against his body and deliver a long, slow, passionate kiss. He pulls back, licking his lips. “Now that’s what I call delicious.”
Riley grins and studies the stove with interest, approaching Jacob even though he’s giving off strong don’t-fuck-with-me vibes. When she presses a kiss just beneath his ear, his shoulders loosen. “It smells amazing,” she whispers into his ear. “Ignore him.”
“Ah, so a descent into domesticity is what it takes to get Riley’s appreciation,” Shawn teases.
“Well, he looks so good doing it.” With a slap to Jacob’s ass, she flounces over to the counter to grab a bottle of beer, earning a wry shake of Jacob’s head and a smile that lights up his face like the Fourth of July.
Well, now I’ve seen everything.
“Don’t distract the chef unless you want to eat charred spaghetti.” Shawn wraps an arm around Riley’s waist, smiling when she leans into him.
“Don’t ruin spaghetti for me,” she warns.
“Spaghetti Carbonara,” Jacob says in a shamefully bad Italian accent.
“Fancy,” Riley grins.
Shawn leans towards her and whispers loudly into her ear. “See? This is why he doesn’t cook often.”
Jacob turns, pointing a wooden spoon in Shawn’s direction. “One more word out of you, and you’re on dish duty.”
“You sound like Dad,” Shawn grumbles, and Jacob stiffens, his face falling, his hand freezing, suspended over the creamy sauce.
“I think we should leave Jacob to it,” I say, sweeping my arm toward the door and hoping Riley and Shawn will get the hint. They do, and Riley touches my arm gently as she leaves, her eyes wide with questions. I follow, and when I’ve made sure Riley’s comfortable in the lounge, I double back to help Jacob.