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By the time we reach the top step, Grayson and King are flying down the driveway in Carver’s Escalade and I watch in amusement as his gaze travels over his car, checking every last angle for even the slightest scratch or dent.
My hand rests on the door handle and as I go to push my way past him, he stops me with a hand on my stomach. Carver steps right into me, looming over me with that pissed-off stare that I've come to fucking love. That look is the star of my favorite kind of dream. “You ever put my dashcam down someone’s pants and have me staring at their junk again, you and I are going to have problems.”
I press up onto my tippy toes and brush my lips over his, meeting his stare with a flirty one of my own. “But what if it’s my pants that I put the camera down? Would you really say no to your very own private showing of that?”
He groans, his chest rising and falling just a little bit faster as a low breath comes sailing out from between his lips.
Not another word passes between us before Cruz’s hand comes flying out the door and hooks around my wrist. He yanks me into his side. “Half a fucking week,” he reminds me, narrowing his gaze on Carver who’s probably wondering just how quickly I could make a video for him so he has something to do tonight.
Cruz scoffs and drags me toward the kitchen, trying to work out what we're going to do for dinner. After an hour of back and forth arguments, the rest of the guys come striding into the kitchen with Indian takeout.
“Hmm,” Cruz grunts, looking over the dishes the guys selected as I stand beside him doing exactly the same thing. “Why didn’t you think of Indian?”
I shrug my shoulders, my stomach growling with hunger. “It’s not like you thought of it either.”
“Both of you fuckers shut up,” King mutters, grabbing a few plates and handing them out. “You’ve been bickering like an old married couple for over an hour. You’re doing my head in.”
Cruz grins, finding King’s insult as the best kind of compliment, making the rest of us roll our eyes at his display. The guys dig into their dinner, scooping food onto their plates until they’re almost overflowing.
My hunger gets the best of me and we sit around my breakfast bar, annihilating our dinner. It’s not until silence fills the room that I realize the guys are up to something, at least, only a few of them are in on whatever the secret is. All I know is that, once again, I’m on the outside looking in and I can’t stand it.
Feeling the tone in the room beginning to shift, Cruz’s head snaps up, his attention no longer on the food that’s being shoveled into his mouth.
Grayson just grins, focusing his wicked stare on Cruz. “You enjoying that?”
Cruz’s face falls. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” he demands, dropping his stare to his food and searching it as though it has rabies. “What’d you do to my dinner?”
My gaze falls to the half-eaten plate before shifting to my own, unsure if I should trust the food that’s swirling around in my mouth. “Well,” Grayson continues. “We know how you struggle digesting Indian sometimes. You know, all that curry always does a number on that weak little stomach of yours. So we just slipped you a little something to help the process along.”
Cruz’s eyes bug out of his head as he flies up from the breakfast bar, rushing back a step as though just being close to his plate offends him. “Tell me you fucking didn’t?” he demands, looking at his friends as though they’ve crossed the ultimate line. “I’m going to be on the fucking toilet all goddamn night.”
King has the audacity to look as though he was just trying to help a friend out. “What’s the matter, bro? We were just trying to help.”
“FUCK.”
I press my lips into a hard line, holding back a laugh, knowing exactly what’s happening here and I can guarantee that it has a little something to do with ‘If we can’t have her, then you can’t have her either.’
Fucking pricks. I bet they’ve been giggling about it all fucking night and were only just holding themselves together as they watched him annihilate his dinner.
Cruz storms out of the room, aiming for the closest bathroom, and within seconds, we all hear as he forces himself to throw up before any of his dinner has the chance to really go through his system and fuck with his whole night.
He’s on his third heave when Carver’s phone rings in the center of the table, a private number flashing on the screen. Carver stares at the phone ringing, his brows drawn in caution as he only gives his number out to people important to him, and more than that, they’re never private calls. He always knows exactly who is trying to reach him and why.
