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EIGHT
EOGHAN
A week later, my lips curved as she grabbed the takeout carton and began to ladle borscht into the tureen in front of her.
She wore a dress that Savvie had helped me pick out—and my brothers be damned, I didn’t give a fuck what they thought about my sudden interest in fashion.
The dress was navy so it offset her bright blonde hair, and it had a high halter neckline that gifted me a deep view of her cleavage while granting her a tidier silhouette.
Behind the counter, hidden from me, was a swinging A-line skirt that was perfect for easy access.
“I can feel you judging me, so you can go into the living room and leave me alone,” she grumbled, misinterpreting my appreciative stare for a judgmental one.
This cat and mouse game between the sisters bewildered me, but who was I to judge when I’d knocked my brother out the other week?
“Won’t you feel me judging you in there?” I teased, amused enough that I rounded the counter and slipped an arm around her waist.
If my fingers inched higher to cup one of her tits, that was between her and me.
She certainly didn’t complain. Maybe even wriggled into me a little in a silent ‘hello.’
“I will, but I won’t have to look at you as you do it.”
“Camille has to know that you and Victoria cheat.”
She huffed. “This isn’t cheating. I’m in the kitchen, aren’t I? I’m presenting our feast—”
“That someone else made.”
Her lips twitched. “That’s a bourgeois way of looking at it.”
Snickering, I commented, “It is, is it?”
“It is. Take your heathen ways over to the living room where I can’t see them.”
“So, this is you being a communist, is it?” Eying the takeout containers, I chuckled. “More like a capitalist.”
“What Cammie doesn’t know, doesn’t hurt her.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why you have to one-up each other, I’ll never know.”
“It’s a friendly competition. Just because you and your brothers like to beat the shit out of each other doesn’t mean we have to do the same thing.”
“I’d make you stop if you did. It was bad enough when you were coming home with bruises after self-defense classes with Brennan—”
“You wouldn’t stop me,” she scoffed.
“Ialmoststopped you taking those classes. Why the hell didn’t you ask me? I’d have taught you.”
“Are you pouting?” She huffed. “I’d never have learned anything if you were my teacher.
“The first time I ended up on the mat on my back, that would have been it. Lesson over.”
She had a point.
Not that I told her that.
I wrinkled my nose and said, “Your safety is important to me.”
