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I love you, I mouth to her as Crew gives us a play-by-play of his first junior hockey championship and Nathan pats his stomach even as he goes for another slice of lasagna.
I love you, too.She blows me a kiss.
This woman. Her green eyes shine with love for me, for Crew, for Nathan.
I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but right here.
No one has to leave and go home somewhere that means we aren’t all together.
This is home.
This is us.
And it’s pretty damn perfect.
CHAPTER 17
Nathan
“Laser tag,”Danielle announces as she reads the slip of paper she’s pulled from a glass jar.
“No way,” I say immediately. “Nope. Fuck that.”
“Those are the rules,” Crew says, lounging on the couch, feet propped up. “We all agreed we would respect what the jar delivers for date night.”
Danielle gives me a sweet shrug and turns the paper around so I can read “laser tag” written in Crew’s block handwriting. The only cursive Crew knows is his signature. Otherwise, he prints everything in capital letters. “You don’t mind, do you, Nathan?”
As if I’d ever tell her no. I lean forward and haul her toward me with a hand on her neck. “Of course not, baby.” I plant a hard kiss on her before releasing her. “But seriously, that’s three times in a row Crew’s idea has been pulled. Unbelievable.”
“I’m just lucky that way,” Crew says.
I groan and look at Michael. “Hughes, can you believe this? Is there a luckier guy on the entire fucking planet than Crew McNeill?”
Michael shakes his head. “He is pretty damn lucky.” He laces Danielle’s fingers through his. “But I’m game for laser tag. Dani in a dark room? Works for me.”
She laughs, which never fails to get under my skin and soften me. But…laser tag? Fuck me. I’m forty-one, damn near forty-two actually since my birthday is in a couple of months, and I’ve never played laser tag in my entire life. Why would I start now?
But Crew is right. Rules are rules. We all put three date night ideas on slips of paper in a jar and twice a week Danielle pulls one so we can all have a shot at doing something we particularly enjoy. Which was great in theory. But now McNeill’s on a hot streak. Last week we were forced to go ax throwing. Watching my girlfriend—who is a lot of things butnotathletic—almost drop an ax on her foot just about gave me a fucking heart attack. And I’m not even going to talk about the karaoke night. Being forced to sing Meatloaf in harmony with Crew has given me permanent emotional scars.
“Yes, that’s three in a row,” Danielle says. “But that also means there aren’t any more of Crew’s ideas in the jar, so your odds are one in three for the next date.”
I’m listening to her and also reading McNeill’s expression. It subtly shifts when he processes what she’s said.
Oh, that littlefucker.
“You cheated, didn’t you?” I demand.
“How could I cheat?” he asks, but his shoulders are tense.
“Give me that jar,” I demand, reaching for it.
It’s perched on the end table and Crew realizes my intention and launches himself toward it. But he’s on that damn couch that acts like quicksand, so he gets sucked back into the cushion vortex, allowing me to yank the jar off the table and turn so my back is to McNeill.
“You’re my witnesses,” I tell Danielle and Hughes. I put the jar in Danielle’s hands. “Please hold this, love.”
Then I reach inside the jar and pull out a piece of paper.
“Wine and paint night.” That’s clearly Danielle’s, given her handwriting and the suggestion.
