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He turns to Willow. “You care if I get better, right?”
She smiles at him like a mother would her child. “You know I do.”
Walking over, he grabs her waist and lifts her on the counter. After stepping between her legs, he wraps them around his waist so her feet lock at the base of his back, then he plants his face right between her boobs. She rubs his back and looks at Colt and me over his head, the smile turning to silent laughter.
I grunt and take a swig of my beer. The man is off his fucking rocker.
Abby comes walking into the kitchen and holds up her phone. “Just got done talking with Ava. She says she’ll be back in town in a few days. Said she has some news.” Abby stops and turns to Tegan and Willow. “Tegan, stop trying to hump Willow in my kitchen,” she reprimands.
“Did she say what it was about?” I ask, leaning back against the counter.
She frowns down at her phone. “No, but she sounded different.”
Tegan pulls his face from the haven of Willow’s cleavage and turns around, still keeping her legs locked around him.
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. Just different. Preoccupied. Like she didn’t have time to talk to me.”
Colt puts his arm over her shoulders and pulls her to his side. “I’m sure everything’s okay, and she’ll tell you when she gets back.”
Abby nods, but the worry remains on her face.
After a moment, she leaves Colt’s arms, walks to the drawer beside the fridge, and starts pulling out takeout menus.
“Chinese,” Tegan croaks through a scratchy throat without prompt.
“We had that last week,” Willow comments.
“So?”
“So, let’s do something different,” inputs Abby, still digging in the drawer. She lifts a white menu. “How about Jimmy Johns?”
“We had that the week before,” Tegan complains.
She rummages around some more and produces another menu. “Taco Mac?”
Tegan shakes his head. “Not in the mood for Mexican.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I put my beer down on the counter, stalk over to the drawer, and snatch out one of the menus. “We’re having”—I take a look at the paper in my hand—“Romeo’s.” I slam the menu down on the counter. Looking at Tegan, I tell him, “If you don’t like it, order your own damn food.”
“Sounds like someone rolled out of the wrong side of the bed,” he mumbles. I shoot him a glare at the same time Willow pinches his side. “Ow! Damn it, that fucking hurt!”
“Then behave,” Willow says, unfazed by his pouty lips.
Wisely, he shuts up after that, and we order our food. I love Tegan like a brother, but fuck if he doesn’t know how to push my buttons. The man is high maintenance and sometimes I just don’t have the patience for it.
Everyone grabs a beer, except Abby, who opts for a bottle of water, and we go into the living room. Colt turns the TV on and finds the World Series game we’re all here to watch. I snag the recliner, leaving the couch and the love seat for the two couples to do their snuggling in.
“So, what’s going on with you and 9B?” Tegan asks.
“Nothing,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the TV.
“Bullshit.” I slowly turn my head to face Tegan. “There’s no fucking way nothing is going on between you two with the way you were eye-fucking each other the other night.” He holds his hand up and points his finger at me. “And Nikki said she saw you leave with her the night after.”
Not that it’s any of Nikki’s fucking business to relay anything she saw. Damn gossipy bartenders.
“When I said nothing, what I really meant was, nothing that’s any of your business.”
