A Long Time Coming (Cane Brothers, #3)(67)

“Anita Sparkle Claw,” I answer.

“She sounds feisty.”

“With one touch of her talon, you’re transported into ye old ages full of glitter battles and fleshy sword fights.”

He chuckles. “Fleshy sword fights, huh? I like the sound of that. Very intriguing.”

“I’ll be sure to send you the rough draft.”

With a smile over the lip of his coffee mug, he nudges my leg and says, “Seriously, what are you writing?”

“A list.”

He circles his hand. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about how I haven’t been feeling right and, to get myself out of this rut, I came up with a list of things to do before I get married.”

“Like a bucket list?”

“Yes, but this could be called the knot list.”

“Knot list?” he asks, his eyebrow lifting in that cute way of his.

“You know, instead of kicking the bucket, I’m tying the knot.”

“Aah, I’m following you. Okay, so what’s on your list?” I hand it over to him, and I watch as he reads it over, slowly nodding. “Well, for one, you’re already pretty, so no need to worry about that.”

I roll my eyes and steal the list from him. “I want to do something that makes me feel pretty. Something different, and I have an idea. Want to go with me?”

“Go with you where?”

“To check off the first item on my list. I want to go today. Get this ball rolling.”

“Oh,” he says and then winces. “I, uh, I have that date with Birdy today.”

“I forgot about that.” I glance to the side, disappointment heavy in my shoulders. “That’s okay. I can do this by myself.” I flash my eyes up to him. “But some of these I’m going to need a cohort in. I won’t do it alone.”

“Any other day, I’m free,” he says. “I’m there for you.”

“Thank you.” I smile and bring my knees into my chest.

“Care to tell me what the thing is that you’re doing today?”

I shake my head. “No, I want it to be a surprise.”

“Okay.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “And what about this circle of trust? Am I in it?”

“You’re the core of it.”

That makes him smile. “Good. Just checking.” He glances around and asks, “So did you get breakfast, or am I supposed to house you and feed you?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

He sighs and stands from the couch. “What’s it going to be? Waffles? Pancakes? Omelets?”

“The pickle special, please.”

He glances over his shoulder. “If it’s going to be the pickle special, then you better get your little behind in here and help.”

“But I’m emotionally spent,” I playfully whine.

“Not an excuse. Get in here, now.”

“Fine,” I answer, exasperated.





“So are you nervous?” I ask Breaker as I sit on his bed, cross-legged, drinking my third cup of coffee this morning.

“Nervous about what?” he asks as he sifts through his dresser for clothes. Fresh from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, he still has droplets of water cascading over his skin from places he missed while drying.

I watch his finely tuned back muscles flex, the corded sinew on either side of his spine when he moves to the right and when he moves to the left. When he stands with a T-shirt and shorts in hand, I catch the way his towel conforms to his butt, giving me the smallest glimpse of his glutes and the hard work he puts in at the gym. And when he turns around, I avert my eyes because there’s something about his chest, the thickness of his pecs, and the carved divots of his abdomen that make me blush.

Staring down at my coffee cup, I say, “Nervous about your date with Birdy.”

“No,” he says confidently.

“Not even a little?”

He shakes his head. “Not even a little.”

“Well, she did make it quite clear that you two were having a good time. She said you were a really good kisser.”

“That’s because I am,” he says, then smirks at me.

I roll my eyes. “Humble much?”

“Never.”

He disappears into his bathroom, and I call out, “Are you doing anything tonight? I was hoping we could play Plunder or Codenames. But I can find something else to do if you plan on carrying your date later into the night.”

He pops out of the bathroom wearing a pair of black athletic shorts and a black T-shirt. Funny that he took so long searching through his dresser for that outfit. It’s as plain as plain can get.

“I’ll let you know,” he says as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed with a pair of black socks.

“Are your panties black too?”

“Don’t call them panties.” I laugh as he continues. “And you know they’re black. How could you forget after that one night you were so wasted, you wore them over your head and passed out.”

“Can we not talk about that?”

“You brought up underwear. Therefore, I wanted to bring up one of my favorite memories of you.”