Their Boy (The Game 2)

“Kit’s got a point,” Colt told Lucas. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“But it would feel good.” Lucas pulled me to him and hugged me protectively, and I sniffled and wrapped my arms around his middle. “I’m sorry he hurt you, little one. Colt and I will take care of this. You have my word.”

I shivered and hugged him harder. Some tension faded from my head, preventing a headache I hadn’t noticed was creeping in.

“You know what I think?” Colt said. “I think they both see each other as family, but the work shit is blurrin’ the lines. They need to sit down and talk shit out, and they need to be friends or somethin’. Vincent shouldn’t work here anymore. He should be at the company if that’s what he wants, but he’s done drivin’ Kit places. Kit doesn’t need it anymore.”

I mulled over the words, a couple of things standing out. Firstly, I did want to be friends with Vincent. The thought of seeing him just because we wanted to see each other was very appealing. Secondly, Daddy was right. I didn’t need a driver.

I hadn’t considered—

“I also think they’ve been too blind to see this option,” Colt added, basically finishing my thought.

He was right again. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

Wiping my cheeks once more, I squirmed free from the hug and got my phone back from Lucas. Then I sent a message to Vincent.

Can we meet next week when Abel and Madigan have gone home? I think there is a solution for us.

“What did you text, dear?” Lucas wondered.

“What Colt said,” I answered quietly. “I believe he’s right. Vincent and I would be better off as friends. It’s what I want. Not this—what it’s turning into. It’s toxic, and we both get hurt.”

Colt slipped his hand back to my neck and kissed my temple. “It’ll work out, baby. You care about each other too much to walk away.” He paused. “Not that it wouldn’t have been entertainin’ to watch Lucas go full-on fisticuffs with one of the guys from Jersey Shore.”

I spluttered a giggle and quickly covered my mouth with my hand.* * *Trust Colt to hunt down the one Texas barbecue place in the entire DC area that had as many longhorns on the walls as Pride flags. The steakhouse was packed with cowboy stuff and guests, and it was run by two women from Lubbock. Booths lined the walls, and tables were scattered across the floor, except for one end that had a small stage and a dance floor.

I liked it here. Real candles flickered on the tables, with most of the light coming from the big bar and kitchen.

“All right, I’ve opened a tab for us.” Colt slid into our booth and put a hand on my thigh. “It’s two days late, but here’s to an official welcome to DC, Madigan and Abel.”

Lucas lifted his beer bottle. “We’re very happy to have you here, and I’m glad I got to meet you two.”

Madigan smiled and tipped his bottle too. “Likewise, man. To new friendships and to nervous Littles.”

“Whoa,” I protested.

“We’re not nervous.” Abel scowled.

“Maybe not now,” Colt agreed. “We haven’t started exchangin’ ideas yet.”

Abel stared at him flatly. “Do you, like all smart people, find it cute when a Little sticks out their tongue at you?”

I snickered into my Coca-Cola.

“As a smart person,” Colt said, “I gotta point out that you’re askin’ the wrong question. You should be askin’ me if I can find somethin’ cute as fuck but still carry out a punishment.”

Abel bit his lip and flicked a glance at Madigan.

Madigan smirked. “I’d let him do it too, so it’s up to you, trouble.”

Colt draped his arm around my shoulders and leaned in. “Just so you know, that applies to you too. If you’re a brat to Madigan, we’ve given him permission to either spank you or use his belt on you.”

“What the fuck?” I widened my eyes. “How could— Actually, I can see you abandoning me to the hands of the devil, but you…” I turned to Lucas. “Et tu, Brute?”

Three Daddy Doms found me very funny.

Bastards!

I huffed and slumped back in my seat and folded my arms over my chest.

Abel was about as amused as me, and we demonstrated our objection to this nonsense until the server arrived with our starters. The table quickly filled up with mozzarella sticks, onion rings, buffalo wings, dipping sauces, and fried pickles.

Abel was munching on a mozzarella stick when he picked up the drink menu. “Daddy, can I get a colorful drink?”

Madigan leaned closer to read the little menu. “After dinner, all right? You don’t have enough food in your stomach yet.”

“Yesss, I’m getting the blue one,” Abel said happily. “Maybe it will turn my tongue blue.”

“There’s a drink that does that?” I asked, immediately interested. “Is it very strong?”