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“Oh, shit,” I said into the quiet of my bedroom. I felt fucking awful. He shouldn’t have found out like that, and it probably wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t sent it.
Sydney: Oh, no. I’m so sorry. How’d he take it?
Preston: Not great. We couldn’t talk about it, so I’m picking you up tomorrow morning and we’ll go to his place.
I let out a slow breath. Well, at least there was a plan.
Sydney: What time?
Preston: He said he’d text me when he’s up.
Sydney: Okay. How about you? How was the event?
Preston: It went great. Really tired, though.
I could only imagine.
Sydney: Get some sleep and I’ll talk to you in the morning.
Preston: Thanks.
We needed to get our rest for our conversation with Colin tomorrow. I was nervous, but . . . a part of me was relieved.
It was finally out there.
Preston and I stood in front of Colin and Madison’s apartment door, and I had my hands wrapped around the handles of a Pyrex dish. I’d gotten up early this morning and made a batch of lemon ricotta pancakes to sweeten up my brother during our discussion.
Except that had been hours ago and it was doubtful they’d taste as good reheated. I brought them anyway.
My heart banged in my chest at the same hurried tempo Preston used to knock on the door. Footsteps grew loud behind it, and it swung open to reveal my brother’s irritated expression. He wasn’t happy to see Preston, but he was supremely pissed to see I’d tagged along.
He tossed a hand into his apartment, gesturing for us to come inside, and stepped back from the doorway to make room. When Preston didn’t move, it was clear he wanted me to go first, and Colin’s focus went to the covered dish in my hands.
He eyed it with suspicion. “What that?”
“Lemon ricotta pancakes and maple candied bacon.” I thrust the Pyrex container toward him, but he didn’t take it. Instead, he glanced over at a clock.
“It’s almost eleven-thirty.”
I gave a plain look. “I thought we were going to talk first thing this morning.”
He begrudgingly took the dish from me. “Yeah? Well, I thought this conversation was only going to be between me and Preston.”
He strode toward the open kitchen and set the glass dish down with a thud, then popped the silicone lid so he could get inside. There were two neat stacks of savory pancakes, and the bacon was sprinkled around, but when he picked up a strip with his bare fingers, my hands clenched against the urge to stop him.
I’d wanted to warm the food and plate the four servings, finishing them off with butter and syrup. Instead, he took a bite, oblivious to what he was doing to my dish.
“I made enough of that to share with everyone,” I commented.
My brother chewed the sweet, sticky bacon, and seemed to enjoy it. “Mads isn’t here. She went to the gym.”
Was he trying to be a jerk, or was this just the personality he’d developed from years of being a frat boy? He set his piece of bacon down on top of the stack, picked the first pancake up, and folded it to create a bacon taco. My blood heated as he casually began to eat, but I reminded myself to keep quiet.
I wanted this conversation to go the best it could.
“More for us, then,” Preston said.
But when he moved to grab some for himself, my brother made a sound of disapproval that stopped him in his tracks. Colin looked at his friend like he was now an enemy.
