“A storyteller. The world needs those, so don’t feel bad.” Ohhhhh.
“Double burn,” Lo says. He looks to me. “You were saying, love?” He’s Team Connor, all the way.
I refuse to concede. My sister will come out on top.
Rose’s cheeks are flushed though—half in anger and half in arousal, her breath shallow. And she glowers. “Don’t smirk at me.” Her eyes flit to his lips again and back to his deep blues.
Connor’s grin only overtakes his face, arrogant and—
“I married an egomaniac,” Rose says. “What is wrong with me?”
Okay, so maybe she’s going to come out on bottom, but I think that’s a place she likes to be in the bedroom. In my book, she won. I nod definitively.
Connor leans forward, his wrists on the counter, fingers skimming her arms. “Rien du tout.” Nothing at all.
I flinch in surprise with the candy bag in hand, chocolate chips sailing through the air. Everyone turns to me, and I redden. Still I point at Connor. “I understood you! Ha!” My French translation book is finally paying off.
And Connor gives me one of the most genuine smiles, and then he claps, not in sarcasm, like real applause for someone who aced a test and deserves an A-plus.
It fills me with more confidence than I think I’ve ever had. I can be on the same level as the two smartest people in the house. It just takes a little work and dedication. Things they excel in—things I’m learning.
Lo kisses my temple, his hands swooping around my waist from behind. My body warms at his touch, and I purposefully avoid his features, not able to stare too long. His gorgeous jawline and amber eyes will send me on a one-way ticket to the bedroom, and I’ve been doing…not so hot these past few days in the sex department.
It’s just difficult being so aroused all the time.
Lo even reads me well, no teasing. He just keeps his one loose arm around me and stays by my side. He says to Rose, “It’s funny how you’re bitching when we’ve done most of the baking.” He gestures from his chest to Ryke to Connor.
“Daisy helped us,” Ryke reminds him, popping the lid off the chocolate icing.
“And Daisy,” Lo amends.
“I’m bitching for Lily too, not just for myself.” She raises her chin to me. “You’re welcome.” And then she folds her hands on the counter and sits straighter. I do love Rose, even when she’s standing on the opposite side from Lo.
He flashes her a half-smile and then walks back to Connor. He pats him on the shoulder. “She’s all yours, love.”
Connor grins a billion-dollar grin, and his eyes never waver from Rose’s and hers never detach from his, like they’re speaking in their brains. Mind reading—a smart person superpower.
I smile and scoop some chocolate chips off the counter while Lo checks the oven. When I look up, I catch Ryke and Daisy flirting, two of his fingers dipping into the chocolate icing.
My body actually reacts, my skin warming in places it shouldn’t. I stiffen, remembering a similar icing situation in the past with them. When they weren’t together. But I never heated back then. I definitely didn’t break into an aroused sweat. I wipe my arm over my clammy forehead, cursing myself for feeling anything at all.
Daisy faces her older boyfriend, holding onto his belt loops, and then Ryke sucks the chocolate off, his fingers deep in his mouth, and his eyes roll back in a fake orgasm.
Holy shit.
I need to look away. Ryke Meadows cannot be arousing me. No, no, no. If there is one constant it’s this: Ryke Meadows is my mood killer, my go-to image to make me dry. My hormonal body doesn’t realize how annoying Ryke can be.
As soon as Ryke drops his fingers, he kisses Daisy so deeply, with skilled tongue action. Her hands grip his thick brown hair.
I grow wet and force my gaze anywhere else.
That was not hot, I try to fool myself. I would like to crawl beneath the bar stool, hide and disintegrate into the floorboards.
This is too awkward to even talk about, let alone ponder in my dirty, messed up mind. Now my elbows are even red.
Great.
I hear a tray clatter on the stove, and I realize Lo not only saw me squirming but he may have caught the source of my arousal.
Oh God. My face contorts in humiliation. I’m not turned on by his brother—he can’t believe that. Not when Mr. Clean on the Febreze bottle made me hot and bothered the other day. And he’s old and bald and very two-dimensional.
But Lo’s features have marbleized in this I hate the fucking world expression that he carries almost twenty-four-seven. “Your cookies are burnt,” he snaps at Ryke, breaking my gaze.