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“Uh, thanks for the food.” I gave him a wry smile.
Dylan sat on the edge of the bed, his Georgia Bulldogs t-shirt hanging off his bony shoulders. “Did you and Fane have a fight?”
“No.” Not within the last few hours, anyway. “That’s not why my eyes are red.”
He grinned. “I didn’t think so. He’d be stupid to make you cry. You’re the type that would make him cry harder.”
I couldn’t stop the chuckle from breaking free. “You’ve got me pegged, kid.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I’ll take it as a compliment.” He leaned forward and pointed to the plate of French toast. “I put jalapenos on it.”
Did jalapeños go with French toast?
I picked up the small container of spicy syrup and poured it on the weird concoction, hoping my stomach could handle it. Dylan watched me with a bright smile as I tried a bite.
The sweetness hit me first, and I braced for the spice as it melded over my tongue with a satisfying zing. “That’s actually pretty good. It’s kind of like sweet and spicy chicken wings or something.”
Dylan pumped his fist, shaking his shaggy copper and caramel bowl cut. “I knew you’d like it. I can’t wait to tell Mom it wasn’t a bad idea after all.”
“You can make me breakfast anytime.” I scooped up another bite and then offered him one.
He frowned. “I’m not eating that crap. It’s way too weird.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’m missing burning my tongue off.” Dylan frowned at the spicy French toast. “And I’d like to keep my tongue. My girlfriend probably would too since we’ll be kissing with it very soon.”
Oh, hell. He was too young to be saying crap like that.
“Do you miss your brother when he’s at school?” I asked to change the subject.
He took a paper ball from his pocket and tossed it up and down. “Nah. Preston comes home for the weekends sometimes.” Dylan’s grin reached his hazel eyes. “I like it much better when Fane’s here. He actually plays with me.”
I couldn’t imagine Fane doing anything besides brooding, fighting, or screwing me over. Or just screwing me.
Heat enveloped my face, and I shook off the naughty images of Fane and me.
“Fane teaches me how to fight,” Dylan said before my mind could dive down a road it shouldn’t go ever again. “He teaches me how to flirt too.” He winked.
My tattoo tingled as the demon shifter appeared in the doorway. “I didn’t teach you to flirt with Tate, though.”
Dylan shrugged and tossed the paper ball into the air again. “Don’t worry, Fane. I know not to steal another wolf’s girl.”
Fane and I both scowled at his cousin’s words. I wasn’thisanything.
“Preston’s the one with that problem,” Dylan said.
“You’re right about that.” Fane grabbed the ball out of the air and jerked his chin for Dylan to leave. “I’ll see you later, little man. I need to talk to Teague alone.”
Dylan jumped off the bed and snatched the ball from the massive shifter. “Close the door if you two are going to make out. No one needs to see that.”
Fane shook his head and grumbled under his breath as he strolled farther into the room. “He’s something else.”
I averted my gaze to my plate, cutting another bite. “He’s cute. And much nicer than you. He made me breakfast.”
“Do you actually like that?” He sat on the edge of the bed, closer than Dylan had been a few moments ago.
“It’s good.” I stabbed a bite with a jalapeño and dragged it through syrup. “Want to try it?”
