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She cupped his cheek, trying not to preen when he pushed into it, his scruff abrading her palm. “Why are you moody? Are you tired? You were the one who had to drive the roads.”
“They’re flirting with you.”
“Your friends don’t give a flying fuck about me and if, and I do mean if, they are, it’s only to get a rise out of you.”
He nipped her lower lip. “I much prefer the rise you get out of me.”
Mitchell snagged her hand when she went to drop it from his face. After pressing a kiss to her palm, he tugged her from the stool and led her into the dining room. Tully and Linc were seated, talking softly among themselves, only to stop when they entered. One set of black eyes and one the color of the sea dropped to where they held hands and then back up before they stood.
“That is a huge table,” she blurted. “The craftsmanship is incredible. I bet you can have a feast on there.”
His eyes smoldered. “I will be later.”
Heat twisted in her gut at the promise those words held. His friends smirked at the two of them. It wasn’t like he’d lowered his voice. Tully pointed his fork at her and Mitchell.
“Well, we know what you get for dessert, but what about the rest of us?” He shook his head. “We brought you dinner.”
“That you didn’t make, asshole,” Mitchell snapped with no heat as he held a chair for Hope, his hand trailing up her spine as she sat down. “I’m sure Dawson or Emma baked something for me. They both love me more than you two louts anyway.” His friends sat again. He captured her hand once more and kissed the back of it before making sure her food was before her. “Hope, Emma is Linc’s fiancée and Dawson is Tully’s. Both women are far too good for those guys. You’ll love them.”
Curving her hand, the one he’d released, around the spoon, she thought about how he assumed she would meet the women who held the hearts of his dearest friends. Her grip slipped and the spoon wobbled. This isn’t permanent. As she tightened her hold, she noticed Linc watching her as Tully and Mitchell traded barbs back and forth.
This time, there was no humorous glint in his eyes. No teasing smile on his lips. Assessment. Judgment. Searching.
She got it, she did. Linc was looking out for his friend, and she was glad Mitchell had someone like that in his life. Hope didn’t know all that much about professional sports but imagined the life was not for the faint of heart.
They watched one another for a few charged moments. Mitchell placed a large chunk of crusty sourdough bread on a small plate.
“You need to eat, Flykra.” He dragged his knuckles along her cheek, his touch jolting her focus from Linc to move to him but not before she watched the ex-baseball player’s slow grin. “Staring at it isn’t helping you. Tomorrow you’re going to the doctor to have them check you out from the accident. Eat your food and you’ll get some dessert. I’ll even make you some hot cocoa.” He pressed his leg into hers as he looked at her, his hair tumbling down over one eye.
“Pretty sure I made the hot cocoa, not you.”
He wrinkled his nose, the earlier frustration gone. “I got you the pot and stoked the fire. I get some credit.”
“I bet he stoked a fire.”
“Shut it, Tully,” Mitchell snapped, chucking a piece of bread at him without pulling his stare from Hope.
Tully deflected it without losing the food on his spoon. That was impressive.
“Are you three always like this?” She ate a bite and moaned in appreciation. The goulash was warm and delicious.
“Yes,” they answered as one.
Hope loved every minute of dinner, despite being exhausted. Short of João, her photographer friend, she didn’t have this kind of friendship with anyone. Sure, she had Wendy and Sonya’s numbers and had promised to call, but that wasn’t like this. Years and years of being together. Having a trusted friend at your back.
It’s great to see but I have to admit I’m jealous. Not an ugly jealousy, but one that amplified what she didn’t have. And the fact that these three extremely alpha men, ex-professional players, thought so highly of their friends’ women—hell, it amazed her.
She took a sip of the warm tea that Linc had brought her. The main meal had been finished a while ago but they still sat around the Amish-built table, coffee and tea being served with a large slice of chocolate cream pie, also homemade by Tully’s better half, Dawson.
“Wait a second, let me get this straight. Your fiancée, Dawson, has a pet goat she earned after being on a scavenger hunt?”
Damn if Tully didn’t look proud. “A billy named Faust.”
