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He eyes me closer, a critical gleam entering his eye. “Where did you buy these? Vita Bella?”

“No. I made them.” His brows raise. I continue, “My grandma always said, ‘Never show up empty handed,’ so I made a few batches at Serena’s after Greyson invited us. I probably should have waited to fill the shells before they were ready to be eaten, but I thought it would be weird if I came with my pastry bag to a virtual stranger’s house.”

Lincoln keeps staring at me, and I wonder if I need to fill the silence with more ramblings. Just as I’m about to offer more unnecessary information, he removes the tinfoil covering the tray, grabs a cannolo, and bites into it. The moan he lets out makes me smile. “Good?” I ask.

“Fuck, these are amazing.” He shoves the rest of the pastry into his mouth. “How did you make these? Did you strain the ricotta before adding in the sugar?”

I’m surprised by the question; not many people know the nuances of baking without looking them up online or in a recipe book. “I did. The secret is the pastry shell, though. I use lard instead of butter in the mixture. But don’t tell anyone; my mother would disown me if she knew I shared her little hack.”

“No shit?”

“You should try her lemon drop cookies. Insane,” CeCe adds.

“Thanks, C. Anyway, I’m glad you like them.”

“They’re fucking good. I’m keeping half of these to myself. Fuck those guys.” Serena, CeCe, and I laugh and follow Lincoln further into the house. From the outside of this house, you’d think an established family would live here, not a group of college guys. Inside, the decor is masculine but inviting, almost like a Restoration Hardware catalog. This is not a typical bachelor pad, but a home away from home for the guys living in this house.

We walk into the kitchen and my mouth drops. “Wow,” I can’t help but comment. Lincoln looks over his shoulder, nodding in understanding.

“I know. When Grey’s dad bought this place, he renovated the kitchen into this masterpiece.” I take in the solid natural wood cabinets wrapping around the perimeter of the kitchen, the gleaming white marble countertops, and the modern finishes. In the left corner, a glass barn door hides, what I assume, is a killer pantry. The sleek, stainless-steel appliances are so shiny that they look like they’re rarely, if ever, used.

The true star of this kitchen, though, is the double islands in the center of the space—one for cooking and preparation, the other for dining and entertaining. My fingers flex, dying to touch every visible surface and create magic in this beautiful space.

“Are you sure you guys live here? This looks like my dream kitchen.” The words barely leave my mouth when a loud crash is heard from outside followed by yelling.

“Goddamn morons,” Lincoln mutters under his breath. “I need to get out there before they kill themselves.”

Lincoln excuses himself, walking out the back door with instructions for us to make our way outside when we’re ready.

“So,” I start. “He seemed weirdly nice. I thought he’d be a dick since he’s so pretty.” Pretty didn’t accurately describe him; he looked like a walking underwear advertisement, photoshop and all.

Serena shrugs. “He’s always been nice when I’ve interacted with him. Let’s get outside. I need to speak with Dylan.”

“Lead the way, bitch.”

—

The nerves that dissipated while speaking with Lincoln about pastries return in full force when we step outside. The crowd isn’t large, and it’s easy to see that everyone here is comfortable with each other based on the casual vibes. Spread out throughout the yard, a foursome plays corn hole while a group of six seems deeply invested in a game of flip-cup. I catch sight of Greyson by the grill, looking like a sexy pit master, and my stomach flutters in anticipation. Though he’s in the middle of a conversation with a statuesque blonde, the moment he catches sight of me, he starts in my direction.

His longer blonde hair is loose around his shoulders, looking every bit the Viking I imagine him being. He looks like barely contained movement, a tornado in pause. He quickly eats up the space between us with his long, quick strides.

“Vixen, you made it.” He grabs me, pulling me into a brief hug. I’m too stunned to react and leave my arms hanging at my sides. He releases me from his embrace and turns to greet CeCe and Serena. “Hey, ladies.” Refocusing his attention on me, he asks, “What can I get you to drink? We have cans of hard seltzer and beer. If you want something harder, we have vodka and tequila inside.”

“Hard seltzer works, thanks. We can grab them; just point us in the right direction,” CeCe responds for us. We drank hard seltzers at Serena’s, so sticking with the same drink is probably for the best, though I wouldn’t mind a cold beer right now. Greyson nods, walks to a cooler, and returns with three cans.

“Here, I’m not sure what flavors we have, but they’re all sweet as fuck.” I reach out, my fingers skimming Greyson’s as I take the offered drinks. I suck in a breath at the contact, warmth and tingles spread through me, like a zap of electricity. I hesitate, savoring the feel of his skin, remembering how his hands caressed my thighs just a few days ago. I look up to find Greyson’s gaze on me. His blue eyes are cloudy and boring into me, communicating so many things without words. I pull my hand back, cradling the cold can in my still-tingling hand.

“Make sure you don’t accept drinks from anyone except me, Dante, or Lincoln.” I startle, surprised by the warning.

“Okay, but aren’t these people your friends? Why would we have anything to worry about?”

He steps closer to me, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “Humor me, vixen. I won’t allow anything to happen to you, but I need to make sure you’re safe. Now, be a good girl and say, ‘Yes, Grey.’”

“Y-yes, Grey,” I stammer.

“Fuck,” he groans into my ear. “I like how my name sounds in your sweet voice.” His breath is hot on my neck, causing goosebumps to break out on my skin. I breathe in, inhaling the scent of pine and leather that surrounds him, and shiver on my exhale. I’m close to orgasm just from his smell; part of me is mortified while the other part wants to keep sniffing him. I take a sip of my drink, looking toward my friends as I swallow. CeCe and Serena eye us, and I do not doubt that I’m going to be interrogated as soon as Greyson—Grey—walks away.

“Celeste, Dante set up a gaming console for you inside. I’m pretty sure he’s had fantasies of you beating his ass, so steer clear if that’s not your thing.”