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“Don’t act coy now, you just came all over my tongue.”

Jesus, I don’t know how the hell to react when he says crude things like that to me. This man gives me no reprieve at all! “I’m just hot,” I quickly say, fanning myself to cover up the lie.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he says with a bit of a sigh, adjusting his jeans. He finds my leggings that he tore off me and hands them back to me. “Do you need a minute?”

“What? No, I’m really fine.” I slide off the counter, and fumble with my rolled-up pants and panties as I try to slip them back on.

Once they’re on, he rolls his eyes to himself as he calls out to Mason from where we stand in the kitchen. “You can come in now, asshole.” The door immediately opens, and he walks in with a bright smirk.

Holy shit, was he standing at the door? I think I’m going to drop dead.

Kane must have known anyway, but he sees my red face and turns to Mason, holding his finger out to point at him. “You gonna apologize?”

“I live here now too, you know. You should’ve put a sock on the door or something, old man.” Kane isn’t amused by his rebuttal though, and Mason sighs, turning to me after Kane stares him down. “I am sorry, ‘cause I’d never do that on purpose. But if you’re gonna be coming over now, we gotta set down some ground rules so you don’t get me in trouble with the boss-man.”

I giggle at the nickname and Mason smiles at me, the tension instantly broken. Kane’s gaze moves between us before he clears his throat. “You won’t be setting ground rules for anything. This is my house, and I’ll figure it out. You’re not supposed to be here long either, Mason.”

“I thought you’d be less grumpy after that, but damn. Is it because you—” Mason points at Kane’s pants, and Kane grabs his hand and pulls him into a mock headlock.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Kane growls.

Huh? Am I missing something? What was Mason pointing at?

Mason laughs hysterically, and Kane releases him harshly. Kane turns to me, gesturing to his beard. “I’m going to clean up.”

I nod, and he walks off his bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen with Mason. “So, Layla, how old are you?”

“Oh um, I’m twenty. But my birthday is this Saturday.” God, is he about to interrogate me? I don’t do well under pressure.

“The big twenty-first, huh? You gonna go out then?”

“Well…my best friend wants me to go out to a club with her, but I don’t know. We’re at least going to go shopping and out to eat.”

He nods, smiling to himself as if he’s thinking something. “Clubs are mighty overrated. Plus, I doubt Kane would like to hear about you goin’ somewhere like that.”

“Somewhere like what?”

When his voice cuts through the room, Mason and I both turn. “Your girl said she’s going to the club this weekend.”

“She’s not ‘my’ girl. And stop trying to get a rise out of me.”

Mason puts his hand up in mock defeat, and laughs. “Fine, fine. Why don’t you make us some of your famous steaks now for dinner? I’m sure Layla doesn’t know yet what a great cook you are.”

“Really? You cook?” I ask.

“Not really hard, you just put the damn meat on the stove and then take it off. It’s not impressive,” Kane grumbles, walking past us to grab a skillet.

“He’s being modest, he likes cooking. He used to throw down when our battalion got to have barbecues. Don’t let him fool you,” Mason says, patting Kane on the back.

“Oh! You were in the army together then?” I guess I’ve been so distracted since I got here, I didn’t even try to figure out who Mason actually is to Kane. But it makes sense; Mason is also well-built, and he seems to respect Kane like some sort of authority figure.

“Yep. I enlisted right out of high school, and he was my sergeant when I joined. Eventually he transferred to the Rangers, and once they let me, I transferred to be in his unit.”

“Rangers? Like…Power Rangers?”

Mason bursts out laughing, and Kane turns his head over his shoulder to interject. “No, the Army Rangers. It’s an elite light infantry unit, not some fucking pretend superhero.”

“Yeah, you know, the ones who do all the cool shit—I mean stuff. Special operation raids, counterterrorism, enemy reconnaissance, the whole package,” Mason finishes.