The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,52

with white trim and charcoal roof, I was ready to turn that fucking leaf back over and smoke about fifty fags.

The driveway was already packed with Ever’s G-wagon and Vaughn’s white Aventador, so I parked behind Four’s yellow and black Café Racer. For a moment, I allowed myself to sit back and picture Bee straddling a bike like that with absolutely nothing on. When I felt myself getting hard, I cursed and hopped out of my Jeep. I didn’t bother knocking before letting myself in, knowing it would piss Wren off. Lou was always forgetting to lock the damn door.

After what had gone down with Wren’s former boss and mentor, they had to keep their guard up. Fox was still out there somewhere, and once he was done licking his wounds, we’d be ready for him. You fucked with one of us, you fucked with us all, and that was the way it would always be.

Turning the lock, I followed the sound of laughter until I found my friends gathered in the kitchen. The second Wren looked up from chopping onions and saw me standing there, he scowled down at Lou.

“I forgot,” she whined as she stirred something in a large bowl.

Shaking his head, he went back to chopping while I grabbed the only empty seat left next to Vaughn.

“Dude, please tell me you brought beer?” he whispered for some reason.

“Negative.” I frowned as I checked my phone. I had a few texts from a couple of hookups, but none from my friends. And none from Bee. “Was I supposed to?”

“They don’t have any,” he said.

“And neither should you,” Winny, Wren’s grandmother, fussed as she rounded the corner into the kitchen. “The only person old enough to drink in this house is me. If you’re thirsty, have some water.”

Vaughn gave me a look that said: “What the fuck?”

All I could do was grin because Winny reminded me of my mother. She didn’t take anyone’s shit, either.

“Dice those onions smaller,” she instructed Wren. “Unless, of course, that’s all you want your friends tasting when they eat your food.” Plucking her purse from the cluttered island, she headed for the door.

“Wait, you’re not staying for dinner?” I called after her.

“I’ve got plans,” she said before rushing out the front door.

I snickered because I knew exactly who with. When I glanced over at Wren, I noticed his nostrils flaring. I guess he knew, too. “I see you finally figured it out, huh?”

“Bite me,” he growled.

“Don’t be so selfish. It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and Grams and Mr. Rogers aren’t getting any younger,” I teased. “No one should die alone.”

I ducked, barely missing the large onion Lou had hurled with expert precision at my head.

Wren smirked as he leaned down and kissed her. “Why are you so fucking sexy?” he asked with a groan against her lips.

Shrugging, Lou went back to stirring. “I ask myself that every day.”

Looking around the kitchen, I realized we were missing some people. “Where are Four and Ever?” Their rides were definitely parked outside.

Not one of them met my gaze when Vaughn mumbled, “Upstairs in one of the spares.”

I sighed, wondering how long before Four found herself knocked up. They never seemed to stop fucking, and now that they no longer lived underneath the same roof, no place was off-limits.

And I had the feeling they weren’t the only ones sneaking around right now.

Rising from my stool, I stood behind Vaughn and placed my hands on his shoulders. The moment his muscles tensed, I began kneading. It only took about two seconds for him to lose his shit.

“What the—what the fuck are you doing, Buchanan?”

I continued massaging his shoulders just as Sean had done my uncle the first time I caught him in his office. “Relax. I’m just trying something out.”

“Well, fucking quit it! When’s the last time you got laid, man?”

My grip on his shoulders tightened as I thought about last night’s rendezvous with my right hand. I’d pretended it was Bee’s soft hand gripping me, and in my dreams, she’d been so patient. So tender. Shuddering, I looked down at my crotch and snickered. An inch closer and Vaughn would have felt my erection tickling his spine. “A week ago,” I said. I’d hooked up with some random at a party whose name I couldn’t even recall.

“Then why the fuck are you hitting on me?” he spat.

“So that was weird for you?”

“Massaging my shoulders? A tad, you fuck.”

“You mean you couldn’t tell by his squealing?” Four