Stitches

Rolling his eyes, Griff says, “He wouldn’t starve. The man can pour cereal into a bowl, can’t he?”

“I’ve never appraised his cereal dumping skills, but it’s just easier to assume the answer is no and feed him myself.”

Sebastian pipes in from the table, proving he’s eavesdropping. “I also don’t eat cereal for breakfast. I’m above the ‘cereal for breakfast’ age.”

“I don’t think there’s a cut-off,” Griff states. “I’ve had cereal breakfast lots of times as an adult.”

“Yes, well, you didn’t have Moira.”

I nod my head in agreement. “I prefer a hot breakfast to start the day. With cereal, I’m always hungry again in an hour.”

Unconvinced, Griff tells me, “Cereal one morning wouldn’t have killed him—and hey, if it did, karma.”

I scowl. “Hey, now.”

Griff lifts his eyebrows, shrugging, but apparently not sorry he said it. “I’m just saying.”

“You wanna say that a little louder and to me instead of my wife?” Sebastian replies.

Placing a stabilizing hand on Griff’s chest, I steal his attention before he can turn around and start fighting. “Come on, guys. Play nice. For me?” Since Sebastian requires no convincing, I flash my puppy dog eyes at Griff.

Sighing heavily, he said, “That’s not fair.”

“It’s so fair.”

“I shouldn’t have to play nice. He’s the one who doesn’t play nice.”

Smoothing my hands down over his muscular biceps, I tell him, “Yes, but we already knew that, so we can’t really be surprised. Besides, he’s been fair plenty of other times. Remember when he decided to let us fuck each other on the regular? Super nice.”

“That was nice,” Griff grudgingly admits.

“Uh huh,” I agree, grabbing his hands and planting them on my waist. “And now you get all the Moira time you want. A mean best friend wouldn’t have agreed to that.”

“I’m not saying he never has good ideas.”

“His good ideas far outweigh his bad ones,” I point out.

“Yeah, but his bad ones are murder. Do I get a free pass to kill someone and you’ll still love me?”

I hear Sebastian’s cup hit the table with far more force than it should and look up to see my husband standing. Aw, shit. His brow is furrowed, his jaw set. His blazing blue eyes are narrowed.

I attempt subtlety as I move in front of Griff, holding my hand out to intercept my husband’s passions. “Honey—”

Sebastian interrupts, glaring at Griff. “You don’t say shit like that to my wife. I’m done with this. I’m done with the sulking.”

I place my second hand on Sebastian’s chest and step closer, trying to ease him back.

It fails hard, because Griff just comes closer from my other side. “What are you gonna do about it, then, huh? Kill me?”

“Griff,” I snap, shooting a look of disapproval over my shoulder at him.

Instead of helping me keep things civil, my husband replies with menacing calm, “That depends; are you in my way?”

“He’s kidding,” I tell Griff.

“No, he fucking is not,” Griff shoots back. “He killed Ashley.”

Sebastian reaches past me to grab Griff by the throat, but I catch his arm and remain in his way. “Stop it. Please.”