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“You’ve got five of them, asshole,” one of them grumbles in response. I’m not sure which because I’m too busy staring at the gift in my hands.
“You made me one of you?” I ask, throat thick with emotion.
“Yup,” Ethan drawls. “You’re officially the youngest Scott brother. Congrats.”
“Won’t people know—”
“Nope,” Bridger answers before I can even finish asking. “Anyone who would be asked about you in any official capacity knows the score. You’re as real as real gets.”
“This is…” I can’t even find the words.
If Mother and her people find me, they can’t take me now. Because I’m not Beckham anymore. I’m not her son, even if I look identical to him, I’ve got proof that states otherwise.
Ford rolls his eyes, grumbling. “S’not even a big deal. Conrad can do what he did for you in his sleep. Obviously, he can’t do it frequently without raising red flags, but once isn’t even a risk. And Weston says you can cover your accent. Do that in public and you should be fine.”
Stella smacks him on the stomach. “Be nice, grouch.”
“I am nice,” he bites back, but there’s no heat in it.
“Thank you,” I rasp, holding the papers like they’re a lifeline. “Thank you for this. Really, I—”
Bridger claps me on the shoulder. “No need for thanks, little brother. You can show us how much you appreciate it by coming to dinner every once in a while. Apparently, my wife would like to host more than twice a year when her sister comes to visit.”
“I can do that,” I rush out, agreeing before consulting Weston. For some reason, I’m quite sure he won’t object.
“Great,” he chirps. “But not today, so you can head out now.”
Stella groans. “I swear I’ll teach them how to interact with guests before the next time you come over.”
“Trust me, it’s fine,” I chuckle. “Bluntness is much easier to deal with than passive-aggressive niceties.”
“We’ll get along just fine then, little brother.” Bridger nods. “Off you get, love birds.”
Neither Weston nor I correct his use of the term. It makes me smile stupidly that he doesn’t. We don’t make out in the truck, or rip each other’s clothes off as soon as we’re shut inside of it, but he does hold my hand on top of the center counsel. It’s a firm but sweet hold, and now that I know I’m safe, there’s nothing stopping me from having him.
This man is going to be mine.
CHAPTERSIX
Weston
“Do you have a preference for dinner ton—”
I can’t even get my entire question out before Beck is climbing into my lap on the couch, straddling my wide thighs and crushing our lips together. We’ve just sat down, coming home from the Scott’s, and he’s too worked up to wait any longer for more, it seems.
It’s alright, I need him too. He tastes like cupcakes—I’m not even sure that he ate one—but he tastes like one all the same. Our kiss turns into a tongue fucking, and his hands explore my body like he doesn’t know what he wants to touch most. My hair, my jaw, my neck, my chest… he feels me up all over.
My hands, though, they settle securely on the globes of his ass. I use the hold there to pull him closer, pressing our growing erections firmly against one another.
Beck whimpers on contact. “Want you so bad,” he moans into our kiss.
“I’m all yours,” I assure him, squeezing the soft muscle of his buttroughly.
Unable to resist, my teeth latch around the piercing through his lip, and I suck, lavishing the little thing.
The sound he lets out isdesperate.
“Like that?” I growl, teasing it further.
