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“One for flaunting in the hallways. But that one cannotget wet. It’s made of solid gold.”

A tiny smile flitted across my face. This was almost the exact conversation I had with Ronan when I first met him.

His face changed, contorted, and blond hair and tanned skin took his place.

“Hi, Gorgeous,” I said in a hushed murmur. Emotion clogged my throat.

“What can I get for you?” Asher asked with a large, beautiful smile.

I glanced down, stunned, to see a table bedecked in a white tablecloth in front of me. A glass of champagne and a plate of fettuccine alfredo adorned it.

“Thank you, Ash,” I said, grabbing a fork to eat my meal.

“Anything for you, Sweetheart,” he replied reverently. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, and I glanced up from my alfredo. Ryder sat across from me, the sun highlighting his dark skin and abundance of tattoos.

“What might your name be, Kitten? Something as gorgeous as you are, I suppose.” He winked a golden eye at me, and I involuntarily snorted.

“So fucking cheesy, Ry.”

“So fucking cheesy,” he teased. I narrowed my eyes.

“Quit copying me.”

“Quit copying me.”

“Stop it, Ryder.”

“Stop it, Ryder.”

“Go choke on air.”

“Go choke on air.”

“You guys are both children,” Calax snapped, and I spun on the stone bench. Leaning against the gazebo, strong arms crossed over his chest, was my handsome giant. A familiar glower was etched across his face.

Moving like a lion stalking its prey, he positioned himself in front of me. The table and Ryder were both gone.

“Hi Callie. How is my arch-nemesis doing?”

“Addie,” he growled.

“Sorry, Big Guy, I don’t respond to growls. Use your words. Or else I’ll kiss you. That’s the ultimate sign of hatred.”

A grunt behind me had me spinning around once more.

“Oh, look at that! If it isn’t the King of Grunters.”

Fallon responded with a, you guessed it, grunt.

Before I could respond, he pressed his lips to mine and ravaged my mouth in the way only he could. His hand fisted in my hair, the slight sting being soothed away by tiny presses of his lips to my own.

Fallon didn’t need words to communicate with me. Didn’t need fancy monologues or dramatic speeches. Every heated touch, every caress of his eyes, every stroke of his tongue spoke louder than a scream.

A throat cleared, and I reluctantly tore my mouth away from Fallon’s.

Tam’s cheeks were a dark red, and his eyes flickered from his shoes, to my swollen lips, and then back to his shoes.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” I whispered, leaning forward to squeeze his arm. He captured my hand with his own, tangling our fingers together.