Page 153 of End Game

Just on an absurd financial scale.

The kitchen alone could probably fit my entire first apartment.

Three more men join us around the massive island while Ethan and Carter start pulling appetizers from the refrigerator.

I recognize Holden immediately from Alexis’s description… and social media. He’s tall, with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. He seems slightly quieter than Ethan. Jeremiah has darker blonde hair with a hint of red to it and an intensity to his presence that makes me understand within about five seconds why Alexis thought he and Ronan might have things to talk about—besides their dominant tendencies.

Shawn is the easiest one to identify from what I knew walking in tonight. Longer dark hair. Brown Eyes. Very quiet.

Then he smiles, and he has these amazing dimples.

Okay… Alexis described him perfectly.

She points through the introductions, and somehow, despite eleven people being packed around one kitchen island, nobody seems to lose track.

“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” Ethan explains while he closes the oven after checking it. “The chef service does the actual work. We just have to successfully heat things without ruining them.”

“Speak for yourself,” Carter says as he sets a charcuterie board on the island. “I can cook.”

“You can grill.”

“That is cooking.”

Griffin laughs softly beside me.

Something in Ethan’s posture shifts toward him. “You cook?”

“Enough to keep everyone alive.”

“Same.”

“You both say that like the rest of us are helpless,” Alexis argues.

Ethan gives her a look.

Carter snorts.

I look at Griffin.

Griffin looks at me.

“I’m not getting involved,” I decide, hands in the air.

“Smart,” Alexis says.

Within minutes, the group starts breaking apart without anybody trying.

Carter has Micah cornered near the far side of the island, both of them looking at the tattoos on Carter’s forearm. Dex is wedged into the conversation, naturally, while Carter explains something about one of the designs.

“My daughter has opinions about all of them,” Carter says, laughing. “She thinks I need more color.”

“How old is she?” Micah asks.

“Seven. She’s with her mom tonight, but she’s here a lot.”

Dex’s eyebrows lift. “You have a seven-year-old?”

“I do.”