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“Sure. You’ve just never missed a holiday in the four years we’ve worked together. I’m making sure you didn’t cut off an appendage or something.” She paused. “If you’re naked, I’ll just get off the phone now.”

“Why would you say I’m naked?”

“You never whistle in the kitchen, chef.”

He bounced his head against his head rest. “Whistle?”

“Yeah. Happy tunes, sir.”

“Fuck the sir crap, Kendra.”

“Right. So, anyway, I just figured you were getting some on the reg. So maybe you’re going to see her family or something?”

“No.”

No, he hadn’t been invited to the almighty Reece estate. Nor would he ever be, probably.

That conversation would be the best.

“Hey, nice to meet you, Doctor Reece. I’m banging your daughter with my best friend. We’re building up to the ultimate DP session as soon as we figure out we’re all ready for it. Nice to meet you though.”

And what the hell was he supposed to say to Kendra?

He was the silent partner in this rapidly devolving relationship. The face of the relationship was Randy and Juliet. It was better that way. Operating in the shadows was usually how he liked to roll.

How the hell was he supposed to tell them that wasn’t what he wanted anymore? How could he even demand that of her? Of them?

Jesus.

“Chef?”

Cripes, he’d totally tuned Kendra out. “You know me, Ken, no one on the regular for me.”

“Yeah, well, I was hoping this time was different.”

Me too.

He curled his fingers around the steering wheel until the leather squeaked with the pressure. “I figure you earned a Thanksgiving menu to yourself.”

“Thank you, Chef.” The appreciation in her voice made him wince.

Altruistic he was not.

Before he could disabuse her of her reverence—or at least make it look like not such a big fucking deal—she had to hop off the call. Shouts and the reverberation of a steel bin made him count to five.

She could handle it. Everyone could handle a night without him.

And evidently, that was exactly how tonight was going to go. Maybe he’d just get rip-roaring drunk and head out into the city.

He took a hard left and tore down a side street and around the traffic congestion. A humorless laugh bounced around his car.

Right.

Like he’d touch another woman other than Juliet. He downshifted as his street came up. Gravel spit up as he fishtailed into his parking lot. The cloud of debris followed him out of the car and dusted his jeans before he slammed his door shut.

He was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t get rid of the anger tangling inside of him. They weren’t a usual couple and he couldn’t expect them to be viewed as such. And not just because of Juliet.

Hell, Juliet might be the only one of them who would actually fit in the supposed lifestyle—save for her uber conservative Boston branch of her family. Hell, the whole goddamn tree resided in Boston. He wouldn’t be surprised if they could count their heritage back to the Mayflower somehow.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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