King Hunt (Boys of Brisley 1)

He took one in each hand with a smirk. “Is this your way of telling me I look thirsty?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged a shoulder and went to retrieve the food to hide my grin. “Might help with the snoring later.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble with that. So what’d you make me, Miss Bryce? Poison soup? Razor blade salad?” He sat, setting both bottles on the table and relaxing back. “I’m sorry to report that the note was a lie, by the way. Only psychos and models refuse to wear socks with shoes.”

I didn’t miss the way he glanced at my Crocs, and my eyes danced. “These are lined, basically slippers. And you were close — it’s definitely poisoned.” I set his plate of chicken carbonara down in front of him then leaned in to tuck a napkin in his shirt. “I read it causes foaming at the mouth and this suit really is a good one.”

“You like it?” He reached up to fold his hand over mine when I couldn’t seem to stop tucking. “I feel a little overdressed.”

“I like all your suits, but you’re welcome to take it off.” My eyes widened when I realized how close we were and what the hell I’d just said. “I didn’t mean like naked, I meant you can change and be comfortable and I’m going to shut up now. Do we have wine?” I spun around and went to grab the bottle I’d known we had when I asked the question and poured a glass. “Charlie wanted me to tell you goodnight.”

I grabbed a muffin and went to sit next to Sterling against my better judgment.

“Are waitresses supposed to sit with their patrons?” he asked, then laughed at my expression. “I’m kidding. You worked hard today, from what I can tell. Maybe I should put the apron on and wait on you.”

“You should.” I held my head up high and took a sip. “And waitresses in House Bishop can do whatever they want. Perks of being the only option you got. Eat your poison before it gets cold.”

“Bossy.”

We ate in silence for a while, but for the first time since I’d started working there, it was a comfortable silence. One that wasn’t begging to be filled.

He was almost finished when he finally shifted toward me and opened his mouth to speak twice, but stopped himself both times and instead awkwardly patted my shoulder with a pursed, tight smile. “Not bad for poison.”

I glanced down at his hand and then back at him. In my time of living here, I felt like I could count on one hand the amount of times he’d touched me on purpose and this felt ... very intentional. Forced almost. “Thanks.” I looked at the beer he’d hardly touched and wondered if he had a drink before coming home. “You want a specific meal tomorrow? I love trying new ones.”

“Surprise me then.” He pulled back abruptly, curling his hand into a fist on the table. “Listen, it’s been ... brought to my attention that I was a little hard on you the other day.”

I waited for him to actually apologize, and when he didn’t, I decided not to go easy on him. “Yeah, you were. I get being worried, Sterling. I do, but how does communication between us get better when you instantly go to anger?”

“You don’t want a tip for your service tonight, do you?” he asked dryly. “This is how you lose a tip.” He fidgeted, then stood and pulled the napkin from his collar. “I’m trying here, Zeppelin. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“So communication isn’t what you’re after, this is just to clear your guilt,” I said simply, hoping it didn’t make him shut down like he often did.

“Thought you said you were a Dean girl? Figured devilishly handsome and emotionally constipated was your thing,” he deflected, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face like he’d flirted his way out of actual conversation his entire life.

“I have a whole argument prepared about the personality of Dean Winchester, Sterling. You aren’t ready for that fight. And if you’re feeling constipated—” I stood with him and leaned in to whisper— “Charlie has medication for that.”

He sighed, patting the top of my head like a dog. “Yeah, you definitely lost your tip.”

Instead of slapping his hand away and asking why I’m now a dog, I kept playing along. “I fed you, you didn’t die ... I deserve a tip, big guy.”

A beautiful, sinful, enticing tongue swept across Sterling’s bottom lip. “Just the tip? I’ll keep that in mind.”

My breath caught in my throat when what he said registered. No, Sterling. I want the whole fucking thing. “And how much will that be?” Did I just ask his fucking dick size? Please get confused so I can play it off.

“Big enough.” He gripped my hips, pulling me in and ghosting his lips across my forehead and down across my cheek, sending a rush of heat down my body and straight to my throbbing clit. He did want this; he wanted exactly what I wanted, and I didn’t have the restraint to pull away.

I’d have fucked him right then and there if a sudden burst of coughing hadn’t blared out through the monitor and jolted us both back to reality. “Shit,” I whispered sharply, then took off toward the stairs to help Charlie. As much as we didn’t want to stop whatever was about to happen, what we wanted didn’t matter right now.

Charlie needed us.

What is... and what should never be.

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Sterling

THE SUDDEN, COMPLETEshift had the blood inside my body extremely fucking confused. Just seconds ago it had been speeding south, but the sound of my dad coughing like that had my entire focus shifting — just not as fast as Zeppelin’s. Even taking the stairs two at a time, she still beat me up there and had my father sitting up.