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After a few more moments of tense—but not awkward—silence, everyone seems to at least sort of relax. The guys tuck into their own bowls, and a batch of crusty bread gets passed around. I eat until I'm full, then lean back, practically glowing with comfort.

Right up until a shrill, electronic beep sounds out, and all at once the lights come back on.

5

Iblink for a solid minute, practically blinded by the sudden onslaught against my eyes. Finally, they adjust.

But the damage has been done. I feel like I've been under some kind of spell this whole time, cast by the sexual tension simmering in this room and the dim, romantic, flickering light. As a harsh set of overhead bulbs come on, though, everything is thrown into stark relief.

Jesus, these guys looked good under candle light, but now that I can see better, they're practically perfect. Adam's eyes are greener, Sergio's hair more gleaming and his scars more pronounced. Tendons and veins stand out on Deandre's forearms.

And then there's Jax, to whom the years have been good. He's unfairly chiseled as he stands on the opposite side of the room, literally as far away from me as he can get while still being part of this meal. And that feels symbolic to me.

I am interrupting something here. I'm upsetting a dynamic.

And I no longer have any reason to stay.

I glance at my watch and wince. "Wow, it got late." In response to the murmurs of agreement from around me, I lookup. I don't want to say this, but I have to. "Sorry. I should be going. The power's probably back at my place, too, and—"

"Like hell," Jax of all people says.

I snap my head up. "Excuse me—"

"Stay," Cayden says, smoothing over Jax's edges the way he's always done.

"But…"

Cayden shakes his head. "Don't try to argue. I don't care if the power's back on. I don't like you being there all alone."

"I'll be fine."

"But you'll be more fine here." He reaches out a hand and places it over mine. Heat flares up my arm. "Please. I'll drive you back if you want, but you should stay."

"You're welcome as long as you like," Deandre insists. "We got plenty. Plenty of food. Plenty of space."

"Oh."

Heads all around the room nod in agreement. Sergio is silent, but his gaze speaks volumes.

Adam chimes in with, "You don't want to miss my homemade muffins in the morning, do you?"

"You really don't," Cayden supplies.

Still, I hem and haw. "I don't want to put you out."

Cayden squeezes my hand. "You wouldn't be. Promise."

"Stay," Jax says. And then just because he can't say anything nice without saying something dickish, he adds, "Otherwise this asshole"—he points his spoon at Cayden—"is just going to be moaning about how worried he is all night, and none of us wants to put up with that shit."

Cayden groans, and Sergio throws a wadded up napkin at him, but I laugh. A couple of hours ago, Cayden was mostly a fond memory, a boy I used to know. The idea that he'd be fretting about me warms something in my chest.

And apparently he wouldn't be the only one.

"Don't make us worry about you, girlie," Deandre says, and it's an echo of what Cayden said earlier tonight as he was coaxing me to come with them. It's a guilt trip, is what it is.

And damn them all, it's working.

Really, it's not as if I want to go back to my grandmother's old, creaky, drafty mountain home. Especially not when it's so warm and inviting here. And if there are fringe benefits—like the eye candy and the casual touches from beautiful, unobtainable men, well… You can't really fault a girl for taking advantage of something like that, can you?