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Which is how I wound up sitting upright in his lap while he reclined in the cushions, massaging my neck and shoulders as he explained the finer points of his plays.
Until Avery busted in, tearing through our food like a tornado and claiming a spot close enough to feed me fries from his inked-up fingers.
“I never said that,” I scoff, reaching for his plate and snatching his pizza crust. I tear a bite off and watch the way his eyes sparkle, full of danger and something a bit more intense than admiration.
“I’m just saying,” I mumble, chewing and skirting my focus back to the game tape. “You can’t take a seat next to Jo’s feet and then complain about them.”
Jonah’s smile is wide and warm. “Yeah,” he agrees, lifting his feet and dropping them right into Avery’s lap, next to his food. “Listen to our omega.”
Our omega…
Oblivious to the tingles frothing though my insides, Avery glares down at Jonah’s toes, then glances over at me. “Fuck it,” he grunts, scooting closer, until Jonah’s calves are over his groin and he’s close enough to loop an arm around my waist.
Nerves simmer in my stomach as I turn to Jonah, worried he’ll be annoyed. But he only gives me another kind smile, slipping his hand from my nape to lace his fingers through mine.
He nods at the screen. “Next we should watch one of Ave’s old fights. I have a few recordings.”
Avery sets his empty plate aside and scowls. “That shit is so boring.”
They bicker like this all the time. It’s actually sort of cute, given how they both clearly enjoy the back-and-forth.
While they keep debating, I look over at the two empty chairs positioned on either side of the sofa, wondering where the Thorne brothers are.
I’ve barely seen Spencer. After the incident in the hallway, he’s started keeping odd hours—leaving very early in the morning and coming home in the middle of the afternoon. I suspect he’s figured out that I’m usually with Jonah and Avery at that time, leaving him free to slip past without feeling obliged to check on me.
That’s what I am to him, I’ve gathered—an obligation. I’m fairly sure he only tolerates me living in their house in order to keep his brother in one piece.
I have no idea if it’s working. Tristan Thorne is every bit as evasive and mysterious as the professor. Sometimes, I catch him hovering in nearby rooms, observing the way Jonah and Avery interact with me. Probably trying to decide how he feels about the monumental mistake he made by biting me.
His regret is still palpable. It hurts my feelings, sending me into a pit of dread and shame every time I catch sight of him.
Honestly, my reaction doesn’t even make any sense.
Why do I let the way he feels about me affect my self-worth? It’s not like he knows me. He hasn’t even tried to.
Then again, he didn’t bite me for my personality. Maybe my scent is the only value I’ll ever have, for the senator. Which makes the fact that he hates himself for being lured in by it even more complicated.
As if sensing I need a distraction, Avery snatches my wrist and pulls my forearm over, propping it on Jonah’s slightly bent knees. He extracts a Sharpie from his joggers and starts sketching, tracing fine lines over my skin.
I look over at Jo. “Is this normal? Should I be concerned?”
Jonah grins and shows me some of his own ink. Implying, I think, that Avery did the piece etched into his own wrist. “I think it means he likes you.”
Avery’s opal eyes flick up to mine, warm and teasing. “Was that really in question, kitten? After last night?” His pretty lips quirk as they remind me of all the heat-spikes he’s eased me through. “And yesterday? And the day before?”
He’s just kidding. I know that. This is our thing—being sassy, clawing at one another.
But my scent still darkens as my belly squirms, filling with the familiar sensation of shame. I duck my head, hoping no one will notice if I can compose my face before they?—
Jonah kicks Avery’s thigh. The pen tip marking my skin pauses.
For a second, I think I’m about to be in the middle of one of their smackdowns—over me?—but then Ave reaches for my chin, lifting my face the way he always does. Wanting to see my eyes.
“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning over to rub his forehead into mine. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re just joking,” I dismiss, forcing a smile. “And I’ve probably been way too needy?—”
He sighs, kissing me softly. “Fucking never,” he roughs out. “I don’t ever want you to think that.”
