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I stood and threw the wet rag into the sink. I caught Haven’s eyes dart from my chest to my face. Interesting. I smirked.
“ . . . and they will be back tomorrow morning.” Kite finished. “Then dinner tomorrow night.”
She was going to be pissed hearing what I was about to tell her. “Going to Mom’s for dinner when they get back.” I tagged my beer off the counter. “She expects you to be there this time, Ice. No excuses.” Haven had managed to avoid my mom and dad even though she’d been invited numerous times to go over for lunch, dinner and even for tea, and my mom didn’t do tea. Every time Mom called me, there was some reference to Haven and how I should convince her to come over to the house.
Ream heard it from Mom, too. But Haven was resistant to meeting our parents and as an extension, since she was Ream’s sister, her parents. I chuckled to myself as I realized in an off-shoot sort of way, I was her ‘brother.’
“I have studying to do. I can’t go.”
I grabbed my navy t-shirt from the back of one of the chairs and put my arms through, then ducked my head as I pulled it over top and let it fall into place. “Oh, baby, you really want to mess with my mom? She’s a sweetheart, but she’s now yours and that means she has some say. Plus she’s making my favorite—spaghetti and meatballs with a shitload of spice.”
Haven scooted out of the chair, grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs. “I have to get ready.”
“Jesus, what’s wrong? You don’t like spaghetti? I can get her to make you something else. No big deal.” She continued up the stairs. “What the fuck did I say? Ready? For what?” I called after her.
I knew she wasn’t thrilled about meeting my parents, but we were all going. It was a welcome home dinner kind of thing. Even Logan’s mom, Isabelle, was coming. The only two who couldn’t make it were Georgie and Deck, but they invited everyone over for a Sunday brunch at Deck’s.
Kite slapped me on the shoulder. “Good call setting up the dinner with your mom. Didn’t think you were that . . . tactful.” Yeah, well, Logan was already reeling about having to cancel the last venue and Ream soon would be for exaggerating the situation on the house. “Still think he’s going to beat your ass.”
“Never. The guy hasn’t got me off my feet since we were seventeen.”
“You better hope he doesn’t get Logan on his side.”
Logan used to be an illegal underground fighter and even though I was confident with my fighting skills, I was smart enough to know Logan was one guy who could seriously kick my ass. I was hoping a nice dinner with Mom and Dad might cool Ream off about the living arrangements and Logan about the bullshit with the chick.
“And what makes you think you’re exempt? I see your ass standing here. I’m the one who hired the real estate agent. You did fuck-all.”
“Because I don’t talk about his sister like I want to fuck her and haven’t been texting her non-stop for months.” He walked over to the couch, did a half-leap so his whole body landed lounged out on the black leather. He reached for the remote and flicked on the television. I grabbed my beer and joined him.
“‘Call of Duty?’” Kite asked.
“Fuck yeah.” It was a Friday night and I was staying in with horses grazing outside my window. My reputation would be ruined if it got out. At least there was a hot chick in the house.
I STEPPED OUT of the shower, dried off, then opened the door. The cooler air invaded the steam-filled bathroom and I shivered as goose bumps popped up like little gems across my skin.
Crisis and Kite being at the farm had surprised me. My brother had been pretty adamant that he and Kat were taking over the farm and Crisis and Kite were moving into their own place. I planned to move out once I found a job, but I didn’t own a car. I didn’t even have a driver’s license. Alexa purposely used to flash her driver’s licence at me, and a few years later, Olaf bought her a car with the money I made at the club.
That was when I learned how to syphon gas. I did it twice when she parked her car in the garage. She freaked when she couldn’t start it. The second time, she caught on and that was when I went back to being locked in my room. Then she made my life hell for a few months. But, it was worth it.
“Kite, shoot him. Shoot him. Shoot him.” There was a pause and I heard bangs and crashes on the speakers. “Where the hell are you . . . Kite! Seriously get back . . . man, you suck.”
There was a mumble and I was guessing it was Kite’s reply. He didn’t raise his voice; at least, I never heard him, and he was pretty calm and patient. His appearance contradicted his business-like attitude, all tatted-up and pierced.
I pulled out my long-sleeved V-neck grey shirt and a pair of jeans and threw them on my bed. I inhaled swiftly when there was a quick knock on my door before it flung open.
“Some chick is outside leaning over the fence patting Clifford.”
I glared at Crisis. My hands clenched around the towel wrapped around my body. “Just because we texted a few times, doesn’t mean you have access to my room.”
“I knocked.” He strode over to the window and parted the white pleated curtains. “And it was more than a few times texting, babe. Few hundred maybe.”
His voice took on a grumbling tone and from the way his broad shoulders flexed beneath the snug t-shirt I could tell he was a little pissed at my casual reference to our texting.
I walked to window and glanced out. He stood beside me and for some reason, it was different with him than before he left on tour. He was in my bedroom, me in a towel, hair dripping wet and there was no overwhelming need to get him out of my space. Instead, there was comfort in his presence and something else . . . a whoosh in my belly that I was currently trying to ignore.
