up from the couch and rested the controller on the coffee table. She didn’t know how the two of them could continue to stand to play their game because after a couple of minutes, she was ready to sit her ass down. Which she had done, but now she really needed a break. The two of them could play for hours, if they were really into it, but she wasn’t like them. “That’s enough of getting my butt beat, thank you very much.”
Diego’s laughter colored the room.
Renzo smirked her way—the ass. And she only called him that because he looked damn good, even when he was gloating. Because yeah, it was just like she’d said earlier. He needed to get back into the groove of his game. He was always crap when he first picked up the controller again after leaving it for too long, and then he went right back to beating all of them at the game.
Although, Diego gave Renzo a good run for his money.
“Anybody want drinks?” she asked.
“Water, thanks,” Diego mumbled, already restarting the game and trying to take a cheap shot at his brother when Renzo didn’t turn his attention right back to the screen. Not that his attempt worked. “Dammit, Ren!”
Renzo had pressed the pause button just as Diego’s character came up behind his brother on the screen. “Watch your mouth.” Then, to her, he added, “And I’m good, babe, thanks.”
Sure.
She bet he wanted a beer. Maybe a blunt. Or a good shot of whiskey, but he was always careful whenever Diego was near. Given their family history of addiction, not to mention the fact that Diego had been born addicted to whatever his mother’s vice had been at the time to use, the kid had a higher statistic for things like drug use or worse, full-on addiction. It’d taken an incident the year before—with Diego getting mixed up in a crowd of boys who had the police bringing him home one night—for Ren to put a stop to it all.
Ren took a lot of steps to make sure his brother didn’t see him drinking. Or smoking a joint before he went to bed. The kid didn’t even see Ren carrying around a pack of cigarettes. Was it all a little much?
Maybe.
All that shit Renzo made sure his brother didn’t see him doing was still out there in the world. There was no way for them to control and protect Diego from seeing it all whenever he left his house, went to school, or hung out with his friends. So, they basically hoped that the example they all set forth for Diego was enough to allow him to make the right choices when he was faced with those things.
Truth was, Diego looked up to his brother like nobody else would ever understand. He’d always been the kid’s hero, even after it wasn’t cool for Ren to be that anymore. That didn’t make a difference to the fact Diego regularly looked to his brother first as a role model. So, if Ren did something, it must be good enough for him to do, too.
If Ren didn’t stop doing something altogether that wasn’t the best influence, then he made sure his brother didn’t see him doing it at all.
Was it easy?
No.
Fun?
Certainly not sometimes.
Ren still stuck to it, though.
She respected that.
It was her turn, then, to wink at him before she turned and headed for the kitchen. She was just pulling Diego’s bottle of water from the fridge, the condensation slicking her fingertips, when Renzo came up behind her.
God.
He could be silent when he wanted to be.
Sometimes, it freaked her out.
And at the same time, she still always knew when he was there. That was why it unsettled her; she could know he was there, but not hear him. Through his scent; his presence; the way he affected her, just by being close.
She hoped that never changed for them.
Ever.
“I’ve got like thirty seconds,” he murmured in her ear.
That was all she heard before his lips grazed the side of her throat and he yanked her away from the fridge. Just as quickly as her feet had been on the ground, he lifted her to sit on the counter facing him. The bottle of water was forgotten to the counter while she focused on her husband. He didn’t even have to ask, she just widened her thighs to let him step in between her legs—she was grateful for her choice in pants that morning. A black material that