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She sure as hell didn’t. Nope, she’s just chatting away with Piper as Bowie sets up the Xbox. That easy, gorgeous smile shining so bright it warms the entire room. It’s distracting enough that I almost don’t mind when Bowie pulls my sister onto his lap and hands her a controller.
* * *
Lara
Three hours in and not only am I still the reigning queen of Call of Duty but I’ve totally usurped Ben as champ for NHL15 too.
“In your face, Boomer,” I cheer amidst his excuse-making and protests lodged from where he’s standing on the couch.
“If we were playing the new one?—”
But I’m waving him off, coming up to my feet as well, then moving to stand on the padded arm so I can get right up into his face. “No, no, no, no, no. The whole purpose of retro margarita game night is to play the games from high school. Might I suggest a little Fallout 4?”
Ben’s smile grows. “You’re going down.”
“Better Chapstick up, buddy. We both know the only one going down is you,” I taunt, tequila and wins fueling my bravado.
“Ha! You wish. Assume the position, Elliot, because you’re so getting spanked.” Ben springs over the coffee table with the remains of our snacks and drinks, clearing it with that same panty-melting athletic grace I’ve been trying to ignore since we met.
“Pretty sure I didn’t invite a date over, so nope. But you?—”
A throat clears, and Ben and I both look at where Bowie’s watching us with a single raised brow and Piper’s head resting wearily against his shoulder. Their controllers are on the table where they’ve been for a while, now that I think about it.
“Oh sorry!” I squeak. “You want to play something else?”
Bowie chuckles, helping a tipsy Piper up and then holding her hand as they start toward the door. “Much fun as all this spanking and going down you guys have planned sounds, think this might be our cue to head home.”
Instantly, I feel the rush of heat pushing into my cheeks. “When you say it like that?—”
“It sounds exactly like when you said it?” Piper grins back at me.
Whoa.
I blink.
Ben blinks.
Bowie pulls Piper against his chest with an indulgent smile and kisses the top of her head. “Time for bed, sweetheart.”
I’m like ninety-five percent sure Ben missed the saucy look his little sister just gave his best bud, because if he hadn’t… I’m one hundred percent sure Bowie would have been limping out of here.
As it is, I follow them to the door and lock up while Ben gathers glasses and the chip bowl, signaling the fun and games have ended.
I grab a few more empties and follow him into the kitchen where he’s rinsing and loading into the dishwasher.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I say, propping a hip against the counter.
He looks up, mouth hooked in a hint of a smirk. “What?”
“They talk about you like you leave smelly socks and week-old burritos everywhere you go, but from where I’m sitting, you seem pretty neat.”
His eyes are back on the dishes, and I’m watching the tips of his ears turn red.
“Used to be… worse.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod. Then shake my head. “That what happened with the off-ice player business too… or is there maybe another reason you haven’t brought anyone home since I moved in here?”
Ben stops moving. He just stops, hands still hovering over the glass he loaded.
