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)
He’s still stiff as a board, dark like Shawn snuffed his light out with one thoughtless comment.
“This smells so good,” I say. “Riley’s going to be impressed.”
“It’s nothing fancy.”
“Well, I think it is, but it doesn’t matter either way as long as we’re together.”
He exhales tightly, hand still gripping the spoon with too tight fingers, but as he begins to heap the creamy pasta into wide bowls, some of his tension leeches away.
We call the others back, and Riley digs into her plate, moaning when she takes her first bite. The sound sends a ripple of heat straight through me, and a smile overtakes the tension in Jacob’s jaw.
“This is amazing,” she says, her eyes wide.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Shawn says, twirling his fork. “I could’ve made this.”
“You couldn’t make toast,” I shoot back, and Riley’s laughter fills the room, bright and unguarded, and I swear it’s the best sound I’ve heard all day. Shawn, of course, can’t let me have a moment of victory.
“Don’t listen to him, Riles,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “I make a mean PB and J. Perfect bread-to-spread ratio.”
“That’s true,” I deadpan. “He makes them in bulk, usually after he incinerates whatever he actually wanted to cook.”
“Lies,” Shawn says, grinning. “You’re just jealous of my culinary mastery.”
“Mastery?” Riley raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Damn right.” Shawn winks at her. “You’ve never had one before, so you wouldn’t understand. It’s a proprietary blend of peanut butter and jelly, all spread to perfection by these artists’ hands.”
“And crumbs,” Jacob mutters, his tone dry as he takes another bite of pasta. “Don’t forget the crumbs you mix into the peanut butter and jelly every time you make the stupid sandwiches.”
“Gotta add texture,” Shawn quips, unfazed.
“It’s why I buy my own spreads. I can do without the texture.”
Riley laughs again, shaking her head as she twirls more spaghetti onto her fork. “You guys… you’re so different.”
“Different from what?” Jacob asks, passing Riley some of the homemade bread he rustled up to impress her.
Riley takes some and chews, her gaze focused elsewhere, taking time to think through her answer. “Different from how I expected you to be… different from how you used to be.”
“Not really,” Shawn says. “I’m still the only one with a sense of humor. Jacob still has a stick stuck up his ass, and Hayes is still a hermit.”
Jacob ignores the stick-up-the-ass comment, his lips twitching into a smile. “We like to think we’ve matured. Hayes even uses moisturizer now.” Ugh. If this is him proving he has a sense of humor, I’d rather he kept the stick in place.
“Once.” I groan. “I used it once because my face was chapped.”
“Moisturized Hayes was weird,” Shawn says, pretending to shudder. “Too smooth. Like an eggplant.”
“Let’s not pretend you’re flawless, Shawn,” I counter, pointing my fork at him. “What about the time you manscaped your nuts a little too close and couldn’t skate for three days.”
Shawn groans, shifting in the chair as if the memory still stings. “That is not a mistake I will ever make again.”
“His nuts probably looked like an eggplant,” Jacob says dryly.
Riley claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes sparkling with laughter. “I don’t wish I’d seen that.”
“You’re laughing now,” Shawn says, pretending to pout. “But it was traumatic. I was struggling to walk.”
“I’d argue it improved your personality,” I say, dodging a piece of bread Shawn throws at me.
“What about you, Riley?” Jacob asks, steering the conversation back to her. “You got any embarrassing stories we can use for cheap laughs.”
“Me?” She blinks, caught off guard. “Oh, no. No stories. I’m perfect.”
Our eyes meet, and I think about the memory she confided in me. The one that had been the catalyst for her initial rejection of us. Our cruel words and her hurt. I know she found that embarrassing, and I don’t want her to trawl it up again.
“You’re still perfect,” I say.
Shawn makes a gagging noise, and Jacob rolls his eyes.
“Our brother thinks he’s smooth. Now he’s got a woman who wants to share his bed.”
“I was smooth before,” I drawl, then mutter under my breath. “Smooth and tense.”
“So tense,” Shawn agrees. “You’re a much nicer person since you released some of that stored-up jizz.”
“Errr… no jizz talk when I’m eating carbonara,” Riley says, screwing up her face. “Like, I know you guys are dudes, but you have to drop the disgusting talk when I’m around. So not cool.”
“Technically, you’re in our house, and there are three of us, so you have to talk about what we want to talk about.”
“Technically,” Riley mimics, stabbing at her pasta and pointing her loaded fork at Jacob. “I’m the one with the pussy, and if you want some, you’ll drop the gross talk right now.”