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“Remind me never to make you mad.”
The timer goes off. I point the masher at him, ignoring the glob of potato that flops off the flattened part and onto the floor. “Stay where you’re at.”
He holds his hands up.
I put the masher back into the pot and grab the hot pad and get the chicken out of the second oven—yeah, apparently Austin insisted on finding a condo with two of them. The panko breading on the chicken is perfectly crispy. The recipe called for flour and breadcrumbs, but I like the way panko crisps, so that was my one divergence. Looks like it paid off.
“It smells so fucking good.” Dylan eyes the food as he and Brady join us.
Brady grabs plates without being prompted and my chest clenches. The old Brady would’ve left me to fend for myself. I’m so happy thatthatasshole has never reappeared. Therapy has helped a lot too. Sometimes, he still gets his boxer briefs in a twist over something he wants to control, but he’s working on it.
Dylan and Austin grab the silverware and glasses while I place four pieces of chicken onto a platter and salt and pepper the potatoes before scooping them into a dish. By the time I’m finished, the guys have carried the rest of the food to the table. I chew on my cheek as I carry the potatoes and chicken to the round table.
We decided to swap out the rectangular one for this smaller circular one so that no one would fight about who sits at the head of the table. This way, we’re all closer too. I like that. The guys are all standing by their seats, waiting for me. I place the food on the table and straighten.
I hope they like it.
I sit and then they all follow. A little smile tugs at my lips. Recently, they’ve started waiting for me to sit first, and my heart swoons every damn time.
“Wine?” Austin holds up the white wine he selected. That was one area where I accepted his help. Wine is just wine to me. It’s yummy and I’ll drink it. But he has long explanations for why certain types pair better with certain meals.
“Of course,” I tell him with a smile.
Dylan sets a piece of chicken on my plate before grabbing his own and passing the platter to Brady. I reach for the broccoli, but Austin pushes my hand away and serves me and himself and hands the bowl to Dylan.
“I can serve myself, you know.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to,” Brady says, dropping a giant dollop of mashed potatoes on his plate. I made extra just for him. I swear, Brady would live on mashed potatoes if Austin would let him.
“Shhhhh, let it happen.” Dylan gives me some asparagus. “Do you want your roll buttered?”
“Would you like us to assign someone to butter your roll?” Austin chimes in.
Brady takes a bit of butter with his knife and stares at it. “Is butter a carb?”
They all crack up laughing, and I shake my head. “I regret watchingMean Girlswith you guys.”
Dylan grabs my boob.
I gasp.
“There’s a thirty percent chance that it’s raining right now.”
I slap his hand away. “You’re supposed to feel yourself up, D.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” His shit-eating smirk tugs at my heartstrings. Even after passing the bar and becoming a lawyer, he still hasn’t changed.
“Oh fuck,” Brady moans around his first bite of chicken. “Fuck, that’s good,” he mumbles to himself before eyeing me like he’s debating on eating me instead.
“Yeah?” I ask, stomach fluttering with nerves as Austin and Dylan take their first bites.
Dylan closes his eyes and drops his head back, humming in approval.
Austin’s face is unreadable as he tastes it. My eyebrows pinch together, anticipating his critique. Not enough salt. Too much salt. Too much panko. The wrong kind of breadcrumbs. Undercooked.
He reaches over and pulls my bottom lip out from between my teeth. I hadn’t realized I’d been biting it. “Relax, pretty girl. This is fan-fucking-tastic.”
“The panko is okay?”
