CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hunter
“Good morning, boys,”Jonny said as Bailey and I walked past his and Devon’s table in the canteen the following morning, kicking a chair out and shooting both of us a look that told us to sit our arses down. Now. “Fancy joining us?”
“Er… sure,” I said, glancing at Bailey and wondering if it was too late to abandon our trays and run. Devon was quick, though. And the canteen was filling up fast, which meant any attempt to flee would be noticed. The last thing I wanted was for this to become a team discussion.
“Is there a problem?” Bailey asked as we sat down opposite them in the chairs that were usually occupied by West and Mason. Who were conspicuously absent.
“No. I just wanted to chat.” He smiled at us. There was a slightly feral edge to it, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I might be bigger than both him and Devon, but I’d seen what Jonny could do when pushed. And I did not fancy starting a fight in the middle of the canteen.
“Is this about Aiden?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’m guessing he’s at your place?”
“You don’t know?” Bailey asked, his tone of surprise mirroring the look on my face.
“I assumed,” Jonny said as he stabbed a piece of fried potato. “He’s not answering my messages. Which isn’t unusual for him.”
“Really?” Jonny and Devon stared at me, and I frowned, confused and surprised by what Jonny had said.
“Yeah? Does he answer you?” Devon asked, a glimmer of amusement twinkling in the corner of his eye.
“Usually, unless he’s busy working or at the pub, but even then he’s normally got his phone on him,” Bailey said slowly. “Sometimes it takes a couple of hours, but, yeah, we get something.”
“Jesus.” Jonny chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head.
“You two really are special,” Devon said with a wry smile as he sipped his glass of orange juice. If he was trying not to look smug, he was failing.
“It’s only messages. It’s not that big a deal,” Bailey said, but I could hear the faint uncertainty in his voice.
“Let me tell you something about my brother,” Jonny said. “Getting regular replies out of him is like winning the bloody lottery. When I wanted to tell him about me and Devon, I called him because otherwise I was pretty sure I was going to get left on read for a month. And when he did pick up the phone, he asked me who’d died. He regularly leaves me on read from anywhere between twenty-four hours and six weeks, depending on what he’s doing. And when he does reply, he acts like no time has passed. I could ask what his plans were for Christmas and he’d get back to me in bloody January to tell me he was busy. I love him to fucking bits, but half the time I feel like I’m lighting the fucking Bat-Signal and hoping he feels like answering.”
I snorted. I was tempted to say that maybe we got a response because of what our messages included, but this conversation was going really well so far and I didn’t want to jinx it.
“I know that look,” Devon said, a pleased smirk on his lips. He was enjoying this far too much. “They only get a response because of what they’re sending Aiden. Is it dick pics? I bet it’s dick pics.”
“Angel, I love you but you’re not helping,” Jonny said, looking at Devon with a flat, unamused expression.
“He’s, um, he’s not entirely wrong, though,” Bailey muttered before shoving a spoonful of fruit and yoghurt into his mouth.
Jonny glared at us like he was suddenly reconsidering his life choices this morning. “That’s not helpful either.”
“It’s not always sexting,” I said. “Sometimes we talk about work. He sends us voice notes while he’s baking. And we send each other random stuff about our days or silly shit we’ve seen. We sent him pics from Ibiza too.”
“And not just sexy ones,” Bailey added quickly. “Like from when we were out on the boat. And when we walked around the Old Town.”
“And he responded? To all of them?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Jonny huffed and Devon said gleefully, “I told you! I told you it was more than casual.”
“Yes, thank you,” Jonny said sarcastically. “We’ve already established that, despite what Aiden said.”
“That’s why we’re not listening to what Aiden thinks,” Devon said as he stabbed a piece of pineapple with a casual shrug. He looked between Bailey and me, tilting his head to one side slightly as he chewed thoughtfully. Then he added, “What did he tell you two?”
“About what?” Bailey asked.
