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His eyes light up when he sees the Benjamin in his palm. “Oh, wow. Thanks so much. Merry Christmas.”
“You, too.” I nod.
Jazz and Bentley join me at the counter as I set out all of the cartons.
“Ainsley would shit bricks if she knew we were eating Chinese takeout right now.” Bentley snags a container and starts dumping its contents onto a plate. “Sweet! Orange chicken for the win!”
“Why?” Jazz gets this adorable little frown on her face. “What’s wrong with Chinese food?”
Jesus Christ, did I really just think my girlfriend’s frown was adorable? I check to see if my balls are still there. Jazz gives me a weird look but doesn’t ask why I’m grabbing my junk through my jeans.
“Nothing’s wrong with Chinese,” I assure her. “It’s awesome, and if we had our way, we’d order it every year.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
Bentley laughs. “Because Ainsley insists that we eat ham and all the fixings on Christmas Eve—which the place she orders from is the fucking bomb—but it’s no Chinese.”
“Have you guys ever tried cooking the meal?”
Bentley and I both laugh.
I swing my arm around Jazz’s shoulders and pull her into my side. “Uh... no.”
“Why not?”
Bentley points to me. “Because your boy is the only one of us who wouldn’t burn a pot of water, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to take hours to prepare a meal that’s wolfed down in a matter of minutes.”
“I know how to cook,” Jazz offers. “I’m pretty good at it, too. I helped my mom with Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner every year.”
“Davenport, you better put a ring on it before that shit gets out. If the dudes find out someone who looks as good as she does can cook, you’re fucked.”
I flip him off. “Very funny.”
Although... the ring idea isn’t so bad.
Shit. I am fucked.
Jazz reaches over me to grab a pair of chopsticks. “Okay, if you two idiots are done, let’s dig in.”
I use my finger to grab her belt loop and plant a kiss on her lips. “I love you.”
She smiles. “I love you, too.”
I can feel Bentley’s stare burning into the side of my face as I watch Jazz carry her plate over to the living room and take a seat.
“What?” I keep my voice low enough so it can’t be heard over the TV.
“Nothing,” he replies, matching my volume. “Just didn’t realize you two were freely dropping L-bombs now.”
I raise a brow. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission.”
Bentley flips me off. “Fuck off, dude. You don’t need to be a dick. I was just making an observation.”
We stare at each other for a few beats. Since that night between the three of us, Bent hasn’t stepped over the line once. Not unless he’s purposely pushing my buttons, anyway. I know he’s moved on from any notion of making Jazz his girl, and I honestly think he knows he misinterpreted his feelings for her. So, why does this whole I love you thing matter so much to him?
“Why do you care, anyway?”
“Because you’re my dawg and Jazzy’s my girl.” Bent rolls his eyes when I glare. “I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it. I’m happy for you, man. Both of you.”
