Their Boy (The Game 2)

“Even if I did, they wouldn’t be interested,” I muttered, scratching the glue off my fingertip.

“You’re a blind fool, Kit,” Abel said. “You know my thoughts on this.”

I nodded once and kept my gaze stuck to the plane. Carefully running my knife along an edge, I scraped off the excess glue and scrambled for a topic change. I knew I sold myself short sometimes; I was working on changing it. I was just…so incredibly tired of my own baggage. It weighed me down.

I wasn’t always like this. So pathetic.

“Anyway,” I said and cleared my throat. “Did you tell your man he’s welcome to visit too?”

“Hell yeah.” Abel’s grin lit up the screen. “He’s in. He’s already looking for kink events for us.”

Nervousness crashed into me, though I couldn’t contain the smile that walked hand in hand with the butterflies. I’d hoped for this.

“I can forward the newsletter Ivy sent out this week,” I said. “There’s a whole new schedule.”

“Fucking A. We’re gonna have a blast, Kit. And we’re gonna get you laid.”

Good luck with the last part.ThreeMy heart was pounding and my hands had become clammy by the time I surveyed the kitchen one last time. Lucas was due any minute, and Vincent and Rosa had just left. Vincent, reluctantly so. He was protective of me.

Rosa had given me a wink.

I scratched the back of my neck and swallowed anxiously. The cookies I’d requested were plated on the kitchen island. Everything was spotless. The listings Richard had provided were next to the cookies, and the coffeemaker was ready in case Lucas wanted a beverage.

I could do this. It was only a meeting—of sorts. I was helping out. If I got lucky, we’d find we had something in common, and maybe it would turn into some chatting and having cookies.

When the doorbell rang, I stuttered a curse and took a shaky breath. Great start, stuttering before I’d even opened the door. This could only get worse. I skidded out of the kitchen and ran a hand through my hair. Then I adjusted the collar on my shirt—crap, should I have put on a tie? No, this was casual. I was pretty sure. Fuck.

“Please like me,” I whispered, reaching the entryway. After wiping my hands along my thighs, I opened the door. And my heart stopped. No, no, no, no! Why was he here? Why, oh fucking why?

I barely registered the polite smile on Lucas’s face. I was stuck on the damn fighter pilot. Colt stood there, with a freaking USAF ball cap on, and he was eating sushi from a to-go container.

My cheeks felt like they’d caught on fire.

Lucas snagged my attention when he removed his sunglasses, and then I was kind of trapped in his steely gray eyes.

Shoot me.

“It’s good to see you again, Kit.” Lucas flashed that infectious smile I remembered from the munch, and I swallowed dryly.

“Y-you too,” I stammered. No, seriously, shoot me! I took a breath and stepped to the side so they could enter.

“I hope you don’t mind I brought Colt,” he replied as he passed me. “He was curious.”

I gnashed my teeth and mustered a tentative glance at Colt, who flashed me a faint smirk and chewed on a piece of sushi.

“I had to see the Raptor kid again.” His smirk turned wolfish, and he walked past me too.

I was toast. This was not what I signed up for.

My hand was literally trembling as I closed the door. Uncomfortable and unnerved, I left the entryway and joined Lucas and Colt in the living room. They were both so tall. Even when waiting for directions or a cue, they looked at ease and perfectly chill. I envied that.

“Very…New England.” Colt was eyeing the seating area.

I cleared my throat and gestured for the kitchen. “I thought we could, um, sit in the kitchen…?”

They ignored how that came out as a question, and Lucas inclined his head and took the lead.

“You have a beautiful home,” he mentioned on the way. “I love Georgetown.”

Colt grunted. “Price tag is less desirable.”

He’d said the exact same about a certain plane.

“Don’t mind him, dear,” Lucas told me, rounding the kitchen island. “His favorite pastime lately is to find something to complain about.”

I looked down at my feet and withheld my smile.

“Look at this place, baby,” Lucas murmured. “They don’t build houses like this anymore.”

Following his gaze, I tried to see my home through his eyes. To me, nothing stood out. I’d lived here all my life. I’d heard my mother sigh about the size of the kitchen, and that was about it. It wasn’t huge, though we had a dining room next to the living room. Only I ate in the kitchen. Well, with Vincent. There were four stools around the island. I didn’t exactly need more than that.

Since my parents had died, I’d eaten in the dining room once. It was only me at a table for twelve.