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Nine years ago—Bellagio hotel room, Las Vegas
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Gunner yells through the phone.
“Not so loud, Gunn. Rone is still sleeping,” I say, smiling at my husband who is snoring, lying on his stomach. Reaching out, I let my fingers move over his broad, muscular back.
“You got married in Vegas! You’ve been gone four weeks!” he shouts, “Who the fuck even does that?” he raises his voice again, and I hold the phone away from my bleeding ear.
“I’m gonna hang up if you don’t can it, Gunn. And we spend two weeks exploring Death Valley and the Grand Canyon, besides Vegas.”
Gunner laughs evilly. “Glad I’m not going to be on Dad’s shit list for once. Suck it, little sis.”
Rolling my eyes, I sit back against the pillows, looking at my ring. Staring at Rone’s sleeping body my heart swells. I run my hands through his hair. He stirs. We have our whole lives to spend together; I can’t wait for all the adventures ahead.
Yesterday, after an epic make-out session, we talked about maybe going on tour with the guys from Regulator. I know a couple of them. They have done some session work at Dad’s studio. Paulie, George, and Denver formed a band with Adam Stix, the son of a famous actor.
“When are you coming home?” Gunner says, munching on something. It better not be the cake I ordered for Dad’s birthday.
“Are you eating Dad’s cake?”
Something falls at the other end. With what sounds like a mouth full, Gunner mumbles, “No.”
“I know your tone, Gunner Colt. Do not mess with me,” I hiss out, turning on my side.
“Come on, I’m hungry,” he whines.
“You are always hungry.”
“I’m hungry,” Rone groans, his voice raspy. He kisses my naked back, trailing his lips down my spine. Pushing me into the pillows he disappears under the covers, his stubble tickling its way to my thighs, and I shiver. Stopping, he buries his face between my legs, making me squirm when he starts to rub my stomach with his two-day beard.
“Tell Dad we will be there in two days,” I say, trying to hold in a giggle.
“Whatever. I’m not cleaning up this mess. I’m eating it.” Gunner sounds proud.
I stifle a groan when Rone opens my legs with his big hands.
“It’s good, by the way. Red velvet or some shit?”
“Gunner, step away from the cake,” I roar, grabbing Navarone’s hair hard between my hands.
He swears under the covers. “Babe, if this is your idea of rough, I’m in. But fuck, this hurts.”
“Do not eat the cake, Gunner Colt,” I warn, still holding onto Navarone’s hair.
“Oh, I’m eating it,” he counters.
“Gunner!”
“Bye, little sis. See ya in a couple,” he says, laughing full-out before ending the call.
Looking at my phone, I let go of Rone’s hair.
He pushes the covers over his head and gazes up at me. “What did he say?”
“Fucker is eating Dad’s cake,” I tell him, laying the phone on the dresser.
“Glad I’m eating something else,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.
I cover my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks heat. He chuckles.
