Page 63 of Loverboy

“Maybe I will,” I replied sarcastically, my phone already in hand and ready to go. Food like this deserved to be remembered, goddamn it.

The photo paled in comparison to the actual food, which was outrageously good. Plates moved around the table, Blane looking like a kid in a candy store as he stole bites of everyone else’s dishes. I hadn’t been sure if we would need two full orders of the bannock bread, but I was starting to think we should have ordered a third.

I watched Milo excitedly scoop up a forkful of his salmon, leaning over the table and offering it up to Blane, who met him halfway and opened his mouth like a baby bird to accept. I rolled my eyes as the two of them nodded at each other in unison, gushing about the quality.

“What?” I quirked a brow as Milo turned his entire body to face me.

He looked at my plate and then back at me without saying anything. He thought I was a fucking mind reader, sitting there in silence and staring me down. Luckily for Milo, I was—when it came to him, at least. I’d memorized and analyzed practically every little one of my brother’s gestures, from pitch to context to intensity, and could interpret every intake of breath and what it possibly meant.

“You want some?” I asked teasingly, knowing damn well what he wanted me to do.

He nodded, and I reached for my fork to cut away a portion of the scallops. I scraped it off onto his plate, and when I looked back up, he managed to look even more annoyed than he was earlier. I tilted my head innocently in the face of his disgruntlement, fighting to keep down a smirk, and after a moment, he silently opened his mouth. I waited a few beats to send him over the edge.

“Feed me.” It was an order that came out more like a reluctant plea, and I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

“Seriously?” I feigned irritation, stabbing the piece of scallop on his plate again and lifting it. “You’re being such a brat today.”

Any trace of agitation left his face when I brought the fork to his lips. I watched without breathing while his mouth closed around it, torturing myself by not looking away. My hand lingered far too long before I remembered to pull it back, prickles of heat stabbing my palm.

“Well?” I prompted while his throat worked to swallow. “It’s amazing, right?”

“It’s pretty good.” Milo shrugged, downplaying the magnificence of the dish out of what was probably a desire to get on my nerves. “But mine is better.”

“Oh yeah?” I raised an eyebrow, setting my fork back on my plate.

“Want a bite?” Milo asked hastily, like he had to force the words out before he changed his mind about asking.

“Sure.” I accepted his offer stiffly, my gaze flitting to his dish.

My pulse kicked up a notch when he shoved a forkful in front of my face. I was usually more on top of my deep-seated feelings than this, but the other night had splintered some of my control. It was impossible to look at him now without being reminded of how beautiful he was when taking his pleasure from me instead of someone else.

I was only helping. That’s what brothers do. They stop each other from making monumental mistakes, like jumping into a relationship with the first pretty girl who bats their lashes at them when they’d just gotten out of a colossal failure of a relationship.

They don’t wish it were them instead.

I plucked the fork from his hand before matters could get any worse, and swallowed down my complicated feelings for him with the bite of perfectly seasoned salmon. The taste was a welcome distraction from my unsavoury thoughts about what we’d done in his bedroom that night.

Milo, however, looked less than pleased that I’d refused to let him feed me. He glared daggers at me, but didn’t make a scene in the middle of the restaurant, which I was grateful for. Instead, he gave me the cold shoulder for the rest of dinner. I might complain a lot about how childish he was, but working him up was just too damn easy.

“Thank you all for coming!” Blane exclaimed as we all lingered around the tables after standing, wrapping up the last of our conversations.

He slid one arm around me and the other around Milo, dragging us into a nearly bone-crushing embrace and peppering us with kisses on the tops of our heads. Warmth blossomed in my chest from the sheer joy that being with my found family brought me, and I squeezed back just as hard. Nearly losing Milo had me being a little bit more affectionate than usual, and I was determined to hold onto what I had, fearful of when the last time I might hug either of them would be.

“We should take photos,” Milo suggested after we pulled away from the three-way hug, fidgeting with his phone nervously.

“Selfie with the bros, hell yeah,” Blane cheered, sandwiching Milo between us.

Milo snapped a few photos of the three of us together, but once we separated, his gaze never left me, and his phone remained out. He looked like he was getting lost in his head again, so I reached for his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze despite the antagonizing I’d been doing all evening.

“Just us,” Milo said abruptly.

I grunted. “A sliver of context, please?”

“I want to take a picture,” he elaborated, seeming to cringe at his own words. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh, alright.”

I shuffled closer to him, our shoulders brushing as he held his phone up between us. I glanced at his face through the screen instead of the camera, smiling instinctively. He tapped the button a few times and turned away from me, shoulders hunched as he looked over the nearly identical photos he’d snapped.