Page 98 of Top Shelf

Lucian points an accusing finger at Ronan. “Hey, Peter Vencro had it coming. He’s lucky Ionlybit him.”

“Such an animal,” I tease.

“What can I say, predators start young.” Lucian winks at me, the act strangely provocative. Heat unfurls low in my stomach as vivid images of him sinking his teeth into me flash through my mind. And I have to say, I don’t mind the idea of being bitten by Lucian Caulfield. No, I don’t mind the idea of that one little bit.

Shaking my head, I look Silas’s way. “What about you?”

Lucian smirks, nudging his friend in the shoulder. “This one showed up one day, skated circles around everyone and stared at us like we were wasting his time.”

Silas doesn’t deny it. Just writes something in his notebook and flips it around.

What’s changed?

I laugh, looking between the three of them. “So you three just…clicked?”

Ronan and Lucian share a look filled with history, both good and not-so-good.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he hedges. “Lucian and I might have been on the same team, but I couldn’t stand him back then.”

“Youcouldn’t standme?” Lucian retorts with a look of complete shock, as though this is the first time he is hearing this. “Icouldn’t standyou! You had such a stick up your ass about everything.”

“And you were a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Throwing his hands up, Lucian counters, “What six-year-old even thinks like that?!”

Rolling his eyes and refusing to engage, Ronan directs his attention to me. “He might have been a wild card, but on the ice, it worked. He was chaos. I was structure.” He points his thumb toward Silas. “Then this one came in and gave us something neither of us had. Balance.”

Nodding, Lucian concludes, “He made us what we are today.”

Silas flips open his notebook, writes for a moment, then turns it toward us.

Brothers. Whether we liked it or not.

After dinner, while dishes are being half-heartedly rinsed, Lucian emerges from the hall closet holding a box. He slaps it down on the coffee table with a grin that’s all teeth.

“No way,” Ronan says, instantly suspicious.

Lucian just arches a brow. “Yes way.”

“What is it?” I ask, approaching the table to get a closer look at the box.

“Physical contact torture disguised as a game,” Ronan mutters.

“Twister?” I question, reading the logo.

“Wren wants to playTwister, don’t you, Little Moth?” Lucian asks, eyes dancing.

“Don’t respond, Wren,” Ronan blurts with a stern shake of his head. “You’ll only encourage him.”

I chuckle. “I don’t know if I want to. I’ve never played before.”

Lucian’s eyes go wide as saucers. “You’ve never playedTwister?!” His gaze snaps to Ronan, a vicious grin flashing across his face. “Oh, well, now wehaveto play.”

Ronan groans, hanging his head, recognizing a losing battle when he sees one.

“Fine.” He sighs in defeat. “Silas, you in?”

Silas shrugs his agreement, and together, he and Ronan push the coffee table out of the way as Lucian lays out a large plastic mat covered in colored circles on the living room floor.