Page 79 of Plain Sight

“You have to stop,” Lily scolds, the fifth time this happens. “You’re scaring Snowball.”

I assume everyone is taking it like a joke—because, like, what else are we supposed to do—until one Tuesday morning when Lily and I get up early to drink tea and coffee before I go to the office.

Just kidding. We get up early to fuck. I bend her over a pillow and lick her until she’s whimpering into the mattress, then fuck her slow and deep and steady while I make her come all over my cock. Lily likes to make out after we fuck, so she drapes herself over my lap and puts her arms around my neck and kisses me until we have to fuck again.

See? Angel.

Then we take a shower and go to have tea and coffee in the living room, and when that’s done, Mason’s still not up my ass about leaving for Phoenix.

“What do I do in this situation?” I put my hand on Lily’s nape so I can feel her shivering into my touch. “Do I—leave for work without him? So I can be on time to the office?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”

“What have I become? Who am I, if I’m concerned with being late to Mason’s office? What’s the point of nepotism, if⁠—”

“Hey.” Lily takes my wrist in her hand, looking at me with gorgeous seriousness. “It’s not nepotism. You’re really, really good at communities. And buildings. And it’s kind of weird how you know all those numbers off the top of your head.”

“This building is worth⁠—”

She covers my mouth. “You’re good at your job. And you look hot in business clothes.”

I pull her hand down. “I think I look hotter without them. Should we test it one more time?”

“Maybe, if⁠—”

A faint tweeting interrupts us.

“Do not abandon him,” Lily orders.

As if I would ever abandon my bird.

We go Snowball’s new cage—a three-story thing with its own nook in the kitchen—and welcome him to the day. Then Lily starts musing about her five-year-plan—to be my wife and maybe open a dance studio.

“Hang on.” I hold up a hand. “Not a gentlemen’s club?

Lily looks me dead in the eyes, her stomach resting on her still-flat-but-softening belly. “Maybe a gentlemen’s club.”

“I fucking love you like this.”

“Go see if your brother’s ready or what. Or maybe just text him. I don’t know, but I have faith in you.”

“I’m the bread of the world.”

“I have no idea what that—” Her voice trails off as she goes to find her laptop.

I stroke Snowball’s head one more time, listen to his tentative plans for the day—tweet, eat seeds, flutter around his cage, tweet some more, nap—and go to see if Mason’s ready.

I’m almost to his doorway when the sound of crying reaches my ears.

It’s Mason, not Robin, and he’s crying in those big gasping, gulping sobs that do nothing to make themselves less conspicuous.

“It’s okay,” Sunshine says. “Oh, you’re—what else can I do?”

“Nothing,” Mason gasps. “I know. It’s fine. It’s good. I just never thought he’d⁠—”

He cries some more.

“He had to be ready. Reminds me of someone I know,” Sunshine says gently.