Page 96 of Stealing Blinds

The last several attempts were interrupted because Jax’s pause took so long that someone else said or did something. This time, everyone remains quiet.

Relatively.

We’ve graduated to dessert, and for some reason, that was the cue for all the men to assume their customized fidgets. Axel and his roulette watch. Ryker and his dice. Maddox and his butterfly knife. Cash and his cards. And Jax and his fire.

I’m sure there’s some psychological revelation to be made here, but for me, it’s simply amusing.

Tessa rolls her turquoise eyes, but mirth paints her face too. Same with Zara and Mercy. And for that fleeting moment when the girls and I share a silent exchange, I let myself welcome the notion of belonging here, like Cash insisted I did.

Jax plays with a lighter shaped like a guitar, stroking the strings to produce a flame. “Tatum Riesling.”

That piques my interest. He was a longtime star in my mother’s favorite soap opera.

“The British actor,” I try.

“Yeah. I mean …” He peters off, not sharing what he means until he helps himself to a hefty swill of his drink, and while everyone seems to view this as a normal process for him to gather his thoughts, it seems to me that he’s screwing with us. “He’s actually a producer, but he … acts sometimes. He’s kind of sensitive about his soap-star days.”

“What about him?” Ryker snaps, not nearly as intrigued by the peek into this actor slash producer’s life as I am.

“He was stoned—”

“What’s stoned?” Remy interrupts from his seat between his mother and Jax, evidently catching on to the communication style and willing to do his part to derail this explanation.

“Sleepy,” Jax replies, tossing a ladyfinger onto Remy’s plate.

“Thanks, Blue,” the little guy sings. Blue is his nickname for Jax.

Mercy huffs and shakes her head. “You know every time he smells”—she mouths the word pot—“he thinks someone has BO?”

Maddox chuckles. “A lot of them probably do.”

“Better for him to ask people to take a shower than for him to ask for a hit,” Cash quips.

Mercy shudders and rubs her belly. And Ryker chuckles and kisses her temple.

“Having the whole family participate in homeschooling him really was the right move, Merce,” Tessa deadpans.

Zara laughs and leans into Axel, the light bouncing off her diamond choker—which, now that I take a closer look, I believe is a collar. She swirls her wine and prompts Jax. “So, Tatum was sleepy.”

He bobs his head. “I did a tat for him a while back.” He takes another break, possibly because the tattoo information doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the flamethrower. “He called, asked if I was doing anything, and said … we should get a drink.”

“Is that where you were the other day,” Axel asks, “hanging out with him?”

“No. I flew to his house—”

“To LA?” Cash cuts him off, leaning in to get a better angle on his evasive brother while shuffling his deck with one hand.

“Yeah.” Jax flicks his lighter, grinning when Remy is captivated by it. “He wasn’t there.”

Ryker ceases jostling his dice, tamping down his frustration with this lengthy story. “Why not?”

“He was here. In town for the day.”

Tessa pins her lips, probing with the bafflement of the rest of the table. “Did he forget to mention that?”

Jax shrugs. “I was sleepy too.” He dips his chin to Remy. “Everything’s a mess when I miss my nap.”

Remy giggles. “I don’t take naps anymore.”