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I couldn’t help but grin a little.
This was really happening? I was having a sleepover with them? I didn’t have to go home tonight and be alone?
“The last thing you are is trouble,” Sloan added. “Unless it’s the good kind of trouble.”
I cocked my head. “What’s the good kind?”
“The way you are with me,” Greer was quick to say. “Playful, full of shenanigans, sweet, headstrong—I could go on and on.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I had to fight the urge to argue with him. Aside from being sweet, those weren’t good qualities! Well, only when Daddy was in the mood, usually at an event. Bratting wasn’t for everyday life.
“If you’re sure…” I mumbled, ’cause I wasn’t sure at all. I’d have to be careful and observe a bit. They would obviously have other rules in their dynamic. Which made me wonder. “Whose place are we going to? Do you all live together?”
Greer inclined his head. “It took me forever, but I managed to get them to move in with me a couple weeks ago.”
Huh. I thought their relationship was all kinds of new.
“Master has an interesting definition of forever,” Archie said with a smirk.
Oh! They were kidding. Okay, now I got it.
A beat later, I thought I was going deaf. My ears rang, yet…not? It was so silent, except not at all. I flinched and twisted my body to stare at the house. The flames were being pushed back by the brave firefighters, and something had changed. I knew right away it was the fire alarm; it’d been switched off somehow, blanketing the entire area in silent disbelief. But I heard the echoes of the alarm ringing loudly in my ear. It was the weirdest sensation.
“Fucking finally.” Greer rubbed at his temples. “All right—the ambulance is here, Corey. You’re gonna go get checked out before we start thinking about getting out of here.”
That was probably a good idea, though my throat didn’t hurt anymore. I was fairly certain it was just that last painful breath I’d drawn right before we were out of the house that’d irritated my airways.
It felt like today would never end. The fire was contained at around nine PM, and by then, I would’ve guessed a whole week had gone by. Greer and many other Tops spent some time making sure everyone got home safely, and they arranged for a few members to have sleepovers with friends. It was also decided that we’d meet up on Sunday in the city for a munch to talk about everything. Right now, nobody would get any answers. Like, how in the hell had this happened? And where were River and Reese? They’d taken off early with Shay, who’d once lost his parents and baby sister in a house fire, which I’d just learned about. I couldn’t freaking imagine.
Sloan was super sweet and comforted me while we waited to leave.
With Greer being one of the founding members, he had his own little cabin on the property. Six A-frames were lined up behind the main house, at a safe distance, and the one farthest away was Greer’s. It was filled with books, old leather furniture, and all the little trinkets that made it look like a cozy cabin up in the snowcapped mountains somewhere.
I wasn’t entirely comfortable around Sloan, though, so I tried to wrap up his fussing pretty quickly. I didn’t know what it was, but as soon as it was just the two of us in the cabin, with the dim overhead light turned on, I was forced to face the outcome of tonight. I was forced to see Sloan clearly, see the grayish-blue color of his kind eyes and hear the warmth in his voice. And I already knew he was a Daddy Dom, and maybe that was why. He belonged in the same box as Marcus, and I was terrified to compare behaviors.
Under the steep steps leading to the loft, in the smallest bathroom known to man, I washed up as well as I could before Sloan offered me new clothes. A borrow from Archer, he said.
“Thank you, Sir.” I dropped my gaze and accepted a pair of sweats and a tee. “Maybe we should join him and Greer?”
He tilted his head and appeared to observe me. Or maybe thinking about his response.
I didn’t know what other categories Sloan fit into. He came off sort of like a teacher and a rocker, with a nice shirt and lots of tattoos. Chinos or slacks or whatever the heck they were—they fit him perfectly, and he’d paired them with black Chucks.
“Are you a music teacher?” I blurted out.
He let out a chuckle and peered down at himself, and he brushed a hand over the soot that’d blackened his shirt. “Do I look like a music teacher?”
“Kind of.” I stripped off my damp, dirty jeans and stepped into the sweats. Oh, they were so soft. Thank goodness. “Just glasses missing, really.”
