My 3 Rockstar Bosses

My brothers and I all share a glance.

“I think we could help out,” comes my low growl.

Are you kidding? We eat like rhinos on a rampage, entire birthday cakes at once.

But Macy has no idea. She relaxes her shoulders and lets out a breath.

“Oh, that would be so great, thank you,” she says gratefully. “I’ve got a ton of dishes to try out and as much as I love to eat, it might all go to waste if it’s just me. Plus, I need objective opinions. Maybe I might like something but everyone else thinks it’s crap, but is too nice to tell me.”

Holy shit, is this true? Free food, probably real good food too, and a sense of humor? This girl is everything we want and more.

Evidently my brothers feel the same way.

“Naw, no worries honey,” drawls Tim. “Happy to help.”

“Food is our business,” growls Will. “We can eat it all.”

She blushes, giggling a little, her cheeks again turning that magical shade of pinky-peach that makes me think of sherbet. Which, of course, makes me all the more eager to lick her in places I doubt she’s ever been licked.

But the twins are on it.

“When do we start?” grunts Tim.

She purses her lips for a moment, thinking.

“Well, would now work?” she asks, eyes hopeful. “I have some stuff on the stove right now, so if you’re free, maybe we could do a sample. And I’d like to pay you for your time,” she adds in a rush. “I don’t expect you to work for free, your time is important.”

Holy shit, really? This girl has no idea what she’s getting into.

“We don’t need your money,” I growl.

The twins grunt in assent.

But Macy shakes her head stubbornly.

“Well, I’d like to do something to thank you,” she says, chin firm. “You’re professionals, and professionals get paid.”

Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Shit, this girl is asking for it. Because sure, there’s a way that she can pay us. There’s a real good way, one that’ll make us all grunt with pleasure. Because Macy is curvy and innocent … and we’re gonna show her exactly what to do.

CHAPTER THREE

Trent

I let myself into the house. My mom said she was off to her tennis lessons at the country club and that a temporary nurse would be at the house when I arrived. That’s good. Someone to hold down the fort, medically speaking.

Because as a doctor, I’ll be overseeing my dad’s recovery process. Strokes aren’t my specialty, I practice internal medicine. But it’s fine. I know enough, and besides, Dad needs help, so here I am.

Lugging my suitcase upstairs, I toss it into my room before checking in with the day nurse. She’s somewhat cute, but way too skinny. I’m not one for the thin chicks, and this girl’s gotta put on at least fifty pounds before reaching my ideal weight. But there’s no harm in flirting right? Especially if she treats my dad better. So I rattle off a compliment or two, leaving the nurse swooning and mooning, dreaming about Prince Charmings and happily ever afters. See? Easy as fuck-all.

Famished, I hustle downstairs. The kitchen windows are open, and a nice breeze blows through, bringing with it the most delicious smell. Holy shit! What’s going on? This is literally the best thing I’ve smelled in ages. It’s savory and tangy and like a sniffing dog, I follow my nose.

Stomach growling loudly, my feet take me out the back door, moving as if in a trance. Pretty soon, I’m at the Jones’s gate, walking like a zombie towards the back.

Of course, my rational side reminds me that it’s super weird to just show up at someone’s house and ask to eat whatever they’re cooking. But fuck, it smells really good and I’m goddamn hungry. Never come between a man and his stomach.

Looking inside, this is definitely the right place. Because not only does that food smell amazing, but there’s a young woman at the stove cooking. Who is that? My mind runs furiously. She’s curvy and dark-haired, and three of my brothers are practically salivating in their seats at the kitchen table, their boners about to bust through their shorts. Seriously, who is this chick? A body like a babe, wielding a spatula like a pro? Wet dreams do come true.

Quietly pushing the door open, I let myself in. And suddenly lightning strikes my brain. Holy shit, it’s little Macy Jones. Squinting, I look at the female again. Yep, it’s gotta be. Back then, she was scrawny like a twig, more like a boy than a girl.