Filthy Little Pretties - Trilina Pucci Page 0,65
“Yeah. We both get a piece,” Grey says to the television, dragging his attention to my face.
I know they’re talking about the cookie, but for a moment, everything inside of me melts into mush. Damn, I’m the perv.
“Totally.” I smile, breaking it into three pieces. “Here, friends.”
Liam laughs as I enunciate the last part and shoves his whole piece almost entirely into his mouth before he reaches over his shoulder and drags his sweatshirt over his head. His T-shirt underneath lifts, showing his cut stomach and a light brown happy trail that disappears into his low-hanging warm-ups.
“Is it everything you remembered?”
My eyes blink, and I press my tucked lips together, trying to hide my embarrassment as I turn to Grey’s questioning face. He glances down at my cookie and smirks before looking back to the television.
“I was asking if you liked the cookie, but you haven’t taken a bite yet.”
“Oh.” I take a quick bite, chew, and try to swallow it down my dry throat, partially wishing that I’d choke to death to avoid my cringey moment.
I hold my arm out over Grey’s chest and wiggle my fingers for the water on my nightstand, putting it to my lips the moment he hands it to me. Liam climbs on top of the blanket next to me, tugging my pajama-covered legs over his lap and resting a hand on my calf. The three of us lie there, mesmerized, watching a woman try to recreate a French recipe she doesn’t know how to make.
“What the fuck are we watching?” Liam finally asks, making me giggle.
Grey looks over with a hilariously serious expression. “Total idiots try to make five-star recipes and get voted off when they suck more than the others. I don’t remember the name.”
We all look back at the TV as the woman starts to cry when she’s voted off.
“Do they win something if they last until the end?” I ask, confused as to why she’s being so dramatic.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
Liam steals my water and chugs it down, handing it back almost empty. “I’ll give you ten thousand tomorrow to find something else.”
I smile at Liam, and Grey grins as he backs out of the show and goes back to browsing.
“American Ninja Warrior” is yelled out by Liam and me simultaneously, as Grey scrolls past, then moves back to click on it.
My head pops up off Grey’s shoulder. “Hey, I almost forgot to ask you guys. I heard in my last period today that there’s a party this weekend. What time are we going?”
Liam and Grey both exchange a look before Liam answers.
“No. We’re Netflixing and chilling.”
My brows raise, and Liam quickly adds, “The platonic kind.”
I knew what he meant. That’s not what surprised me. They just told me I wasn’t going to a party? It’s as if we’ve never met.
“Cool, then maybe we can hook up after you guys finish because I’m going to the party.”
Grey twists his head toward me, looking at me grumpily. “Funny girl. You aren’t going either.”
“Why? Because you say so?” My laugh escapes before I’m done speaking. “You’ve confused a period with a question mark. I wasn’t asking.”
Both guys sit up, causing me to plop back on the pillow, and stare up at them.
“Then stay because we like you,” Liam offers, in that sincere way only he can. “And if that’s not enough, stay because we’d rather hang out with you than anyone else.”
Shit. There’s no way I’m saying no to that speech and his damn face grinning down at me. But I have to put up a bigger fight, or they’ll know how to work me over for everything. And in this friendzone, they don’t get to choose for me. Ever.
“What if I want to go? Maybe I want to meet people, make other friends. Since I’ve been back, I’ve got you guys and Kai. That’s a lot of testosterone.”
Motioning with his head for me to make room, Grey shakes his head and lies back the way he was. “Bullshit. Make girlfriends in girl places. Parties are for guys to fuck you.”
“The fucking hypocrisy in that statement. Try again.”
Liam looks past me at Grey’s amused face, waiting for him to respond, but Grey tightens his arm around me, tilting my chin with his hand to look at him.
“Then stay because if you go, we go. And the minute some drunk asshole works up enough nerve to speak to you, we’ll have another Doug situation on our hands.”
I should be annoyed, offended, maybe even challenged. But nope. I’m as twisted as they are—it’s why we’re best friends. There’s that word that doesn’t really describe us.
Liam takes his post back and grabs my legs again. The show resumes, and I wait for a beat before tossing out, “So under those rules then I’m not allowed to date ever again?”
“That better be a joke,” Liam muses.
“You get us,” Grey finishes.
Only an idiot would ignore the bleeding red flags waving directly in their face. Only someone who’s a fucking fool or so damn caught up in this decadent, incredible moment that she ignores it all to savor them just a little longer. Neither of them looks at me, which is good, because the smile on my face couldn’t go unnoticed even if I tried.
My spoon dips into the creamy thick yogurt, pulling in the honey and fruit before I lift it to my lips and take another bite. This has become my ritual at breakfast—eating alone and reading the paper. It’s surprisingly comforting, the kind of routine I’ve missed. Not that I had much of a choice, though, since my dad only shows up to sleep here.
The Friday newspaper on the table rustles as I flip through to get to the arts section. A photo of Liam’s mother standing with the director of the Met precedes an article about the generous donation of her Picassos for public viewing. It makes me smile, not because I’ve ever much liked her, but because it makes me think of my guys. They’re mine, more so than they’ve ever been. The thought puts a smile on my face.
“I take it by the pleasant look on your face that school has been an easier transition than expected.”
Vic’s voice startles me from my thoughts, and I lift my eyes. “Is that a nice way of saying I haven’t fucked up? I’m a champ, but Hillcrest is a breeze. I would’ve so rocked the Hunger Games.”
My movie reference is completely lost on him, telling by the look on his face.
“Your father would like to have dinner, next week. Monday. He’s asked me to put it on your schedule and also to inform you that he’s arranged the Boulders for your mother.”
My spoon stops midway between my mouth and the bowl. Did I hear that correctly?
“Sure, and thank you.”
I’m partially speechless. That’s probably the most surprising sentence that could’ve ever left Vic’s mouth.
He clears his throat and fills my teacup. “And, may I add, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. While you were unexpected, it hasn’t been terrible having life in this house again.”
My fingertips trace the gold-leaf flower detail on the fragile cup as I digest his words. “I’m happy to have livened the place up. Does this mean we’re friends now, Vic?”
“Miss Kennedy—”