Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

I shake my head. Not sure I can stomach anything yet. Not before we talk, really talk. We need to address the twin pink elephants in the room.

The fact I had sex with him, with them, for the first time.

And that he ran out as if the Devil was riding him, and won’t say why.

“I’ll make omelets,” Ryan says, and I lean against the wall, pretending to be gazing outside while observing him as he whisks the eggs in a bowl, his hoodie sleeves turned up to reveal his corded forearms, as he sets the pan to heat up and pours the eggs inside.

As he makes perfect, golden omelets, his hands only shaking a little.

Why are they shaking?

I open my mouth to ask again what went on earlier, when Riddick makes his appearance and leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest. His dark hair is wet, and his T-shirt sticks to his chest. He looks like he just took a shower.

“Omelet?” Ryan asks, glancing at him over his shoulder.

Riddick gives him a flat look. The scent of soap wafts in the air as he walks to the table and takes a seat. “Sure. Why not? We fucked, and we won’t talk about it, but let’s have an omelet.”

“What do you want me to say? We fucked. It was good.” Ryan slides a plate with a golden omelet in front of Riddick, then another in front of an empty seat. He nods at me. “For you.”

Silently, I sit down.

He’s acting cool, way too cool.

Cold.

It’s not that I thought losing my virginity would be a history altering event or anything, but it was an important moment for me.

It is an important moment. It’s only been maybe half an hour, tops, since we were joined together on the bed, and now it’s as if it never happened. I didn’t expect him to be concerned about me, hug me and say he loves me—but at least I thought he’d ask me how I’m feeling.

Yeah, it hurts. Deep in my chest.

I have to ask myself again what I’m doing. Why I didn’t see this coming.

“So I will ask again,” Riddick says, not making any move to eat his omelet. “What happened?”

Ryan’s face twists. “Indigestion,” he says.

I swallow hard.

“Did you know that a heart attack sometimes feels like indigestion?” Riddick says darkly.

Ryan goes white.

“He’s only pissed off at you,” I say, and why do I still feel the need to protect him after his strange, cold behavior?

I’m slowly getting pissed off, too.

About time. Anger is part of putting up my defenses, before he hurts me too badly.

“Come on, R, stop.” Riddick presses his thumbs into his forehead. “Indigestion. That’s bullshit. Tell us the truth.” He leans forward, gaze intense. “You owe us that much.”

For a moment, Ryan’s face twists as if in pain or sadness.

Then he turns away, rubs a hand over his chest. “We can go as soon as you finish eating. I have a lot of work to catch up with at home.”

Riddick pushes his chair back and walks out of the kitchen.

I stay, because I don’t know what to do. Not hungry, I don’t touch the omelet, or the rolls of bread Ryan set out on the table. I look at the rigid, uncompromising line of his back and think…