Sinking against his side, I circle his waist, warm, satisfied, and safe.
I open my eyes, but I already know they are gone. All night I was sandwiched between my hot mates, and I slept amazingly. Brushing my hair out of my face, I ease up slightly and squint toward the door. The voices from downstairs ring clearly through the house.
“I don’t know Remy well, but I don’t think he’s going to be happy,” Rylee says.
“He’ll be fine,” Lawson says.
“He will not,” Bane rumbles.
“I wanted to make breakfast for our mate,” Lawson growls.
“You can’t cook,” Hunter says dryly.
“How bad can I fuck up pancakes?” Lawson asks, and something hits the ground.
“Pretty badly,” Bane says.
“You fuckers could help,” Lawson grumbles.
“Could.” I press my lips together. Bane is fucking funny.
“Here,” Rylee says. A chair scrapes across the floor.
“You said you can’t cook either.”
“Yes, but it’s a box of mix. I’ve added water to mixes before,” she says.
“That’s what he said,” Hunter says.
“Why aren’t you helping?” Lawson asks. “You do it better than me.”
“You said you want to do it. I made coffee for her,” he replies.
“Bane?”
“While both of you were sleeping with our mate, I got up,” Bane says. “I made a breakfast casserole. I put it in the fridge to cook when you got up.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?” Lawson snarls.
“I didn’t have a chance. Rylee showed up. When you woke up, you were determined to cook.” I bite my lip.
“Shit,” Lawson says.
“She’ll love the pancakes,” Rylee says. “Now she’ll have a feast.” I appreciate her attempt to make him feel better.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to use that much water,” Lawson murmurs.
“It is a little runny,” Rylee says. Something slams on the counter. “Shit, I think we added too much mix now. Let’s add more water.”
“How long is Remy going to be at work?” Bane asks.
“At least a few hours,” Hunter says.
“Good. It’s going to take that long to clean up the mess,” Bane says.
“It’s fine. Everything is fine,” Rylee sings.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Bane says.
