Four Letter Word (Love Logic #2) - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,68

from my own conundrum.

Eventually the moans die down, and I wander between the kitchen and the living room, feeling a bit aimless as I wait for my cookies to bake.

Several minutes later, the sound of a door opening from down the hallway sounds softly as I pull the cookies out of the oven. I certainly didn’t bake them in hopes of impressing Riot. That would be silly. Quiet footfalls draw near, and I look up to find the intimidatingly gorgeous man standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his lilac hair messy, a hickey glaringly obvious over his Adam’s apple. My cock twitches to life at the image of Bishop’s mouth all over him.

“Those for me?” Riot asks, a slow smirk stretching over his lips as he eyes the pan of cookies.

“No,” I lie. “But they should be cool in about ten minutes if you have time to wait.” I have seen enough to know he’ll shove baked goods into his mouth straight out of the oven, but he doesn’t argue about waiting.

“Play a round of Madden?” he offers instead.

“Yeah?”

He jerks his head toward the living room, and I follow him out of the kitchen.

He grabs a controller and settles on the couch while I boot the game up.

“Did Bishop fall asleep?” I guess in an attempt to make conversation. Is it impolite to imply I heard them fucking?

“Yup. I wasn’t tired yet though, plus I thought I smelled cookies,” he says with a grin.

“You’re like a bottomless pit.”

“I’m a growing boy,” he defends.

“You’re in your thirties,” I counter with a laugh.

Riot shrugs. “We’re always growing in one direction or another.” He throws in an eyebrow waggle, and I chuckle again.

We start up the game, and it becomes immediately clear that this is far from the first time Riot has played.

“Fuck, you’re good at this game,” I mutter as he kicks my ass.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he says. “Madden was my jam all through college. I was never a big party guy.”

“Really? You’re so outgoing though.”

He shrugs, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. “I like one on one or small group hang outs. Big, noisy crowds aren’t that appealing.”

“Same,” I agree. “My roommate my freshman year would go to all the social events and had tons of friends, but I spent most of my time studying or working.”

“You had to work through college too?” he asks. “I swear, it always felt like I was the only unlucky one who had to do that.”

“I didn’t mind working that much. I was already used to juggling school and work. We grew up really poor,” I admit, swallow around the shame building in my throat. “My dad died when I was three, so my mom had to work hard to keep food on the table. This isn’t exactly a low-class city, you know? Not everyone is as rich as Hudson’s family, but most people around here aren’t saving pennies in a milk jug so they can do something for their birthday.”

“I get it,” Riot says. “It was the same with my family. My dad didn’t die, he…” he stumbles, clearing his throat. “He wasn’t around. I didn’t own a single item of clothing that wasn’t from a thrift shop until I was twenty.”

Something in my chest eases. I’ve never talked much about the financial struggle I dealt with growing up, because it’s embarrassing as hell. It’s nice to know Riot can relate.

“How about coupons? Did your mom drag you around to half a dozen different stores on grocery shopping days to use all the coupons or get the best deals?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” he says, nodding and smiling fondly. “When I would go to a friend’s house and see that they had name brand Pop-Tarts, I thought they had to be rich. I mean, only rich people spend the extra fifty cents for name brands, right?”

“In my experience,” I agree with a laugh. “Hudson never got it; he thought I was being an asshole about his money, but he didn’t understand.”

Riot nods thoughtfully. “Maybe there are things you don’t understand about Hudson too?”

I bristle a little, even though I’m sure he’s right. I haven’t spoken to the man since we were teenagers; I’m sure there’s plenty about his life I don’t understand.

“Bishop wants me to try to patch things up with him. I’m going to try, but I can’t make any promises.”

“It can be hard to leave our insecurities behind. I haven’t needed to worry about money in years, and