Page 51

Boys

W e still haven’t talked about the day at State U, but that’s mostly because I’ve been running around hell’s half acre. Midterm projects have been kicking my ass, and the time I’ve spent explaining to parents that students’ grades in art are absolutely part of their GPA is horrifying. Some kids are there because they want to learn or love to create, but there are almost as many who chose this as an arts elective expecting the same ‘pass if I see you in class’ attitude my predecessor must have had. I don’t work that way, and the demands of the small town elite won’t cow me.

Don’t want to fail? Do your work and show up.

I won’t penalize someone for not being gifted in visual arts; everyone learns differently and I measure success not in perfection, but in the joy of creation. However, sitting in class and acting like a 90s cartoon with the clay or snickering during figure drawing is not the path to my good graces. Teddy offered to intervene with some of the football parents, but I refused. Students and parents alike need to recognize my authority in the classroom and respect my judgment. Otherwise, I’d be stuck bowing and scraping to some mercurial shitheads whenever they feel like tossing a barb my way.

I had similar problems with my private lessons. Britannia isn’t as snarky; in fact, she’s been damned near silent for the past couple of weeks. She comes in, works on her projects, cleans up, and leaves without saying much of anything. I’m not sure what happened—maybe she grew the hell up. I thought the change in behavior would mitigate the stress of running the studio and teaching while hunting for clues for the mysterious shit we research in my garage.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Once Britannia was off her bullshit, other students started acting like their shit smelled like roses. The Barrington twins and their friend, Ariel Nancy Behle, have been torturing me with snide questions, muttered remarks, and ass-sucking attitude. I’ve spent weeks hearing the perennial junior high school taunt—the ‘whore’ cough.

Luckily, I know very junior high girls don’t know their asses from their elbows, and expecting them to understand the complexities of polyamorous relationships would be ridiculous.

Besides, they’re repeating what their mothers are saying. I can’t blame them for being jerks; you can’t make excellent decisions when you’re only provided half of the information.

The stress from managing their bullshit for two weeks is weighing on me, so when I pull up to my house to find a crew of short, gruff people carting building materials up my front lawn, my jaw drops. Edgar is sitting on the porch with a bourbon, watching them in the waning light of the evening like a feudal lord. The imagery is giggle-worthy, but the activity is not. I have zero interest in putting up with a bunch of builders whacking away at my place while I try to relax and decompress.

What the actual fuck was he thinking? It’s a school night, and while he doesn’t have to be up early, the rest of us do. I’m going to murder him.

“Teddy!” I call as I stomp onto the porch. “What in the name of Colonel Sanders is going on here?”

His grin spreads as he stands, walking to the edge of the verandah with his glass in hand. “Tilly, thank hell you’re home. The pup and doc are in the backyard, and the Irish git is playing Halo on the Xbox. He’s a sore loser, and I had to come out here before we had a tussle.”

Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot. “That does not explain why there’s a small contingent of dwarf-like people hauling two-by-fours across my lawn at six pm!”

Edgar arches a brow, taking the steps one at a time to move towards me. At first, I don’t realize why he’s moving so slowly, but then I take in his appearance. He’s clad in a tight white compression shirt and his loose grey ‘coach pants’. The athlete’s muscles he works so hard on are on full display, and my eyes widen as I watch him come down the stairs so slowly I can see everything—and I mean everything —move. Licking my lips, I open my mouth to chastise him again, but nothing comes out.

“Something wrong, drugar?” he asks, his face a picture of faux innocence.

That motherfucker .

He planned this to the tee, knowing I wouldn’t be able to yell at him when he looks like a fucking football god. I mean, I could give a red randy shit about sports, but watching Teddy play shirts and skins with his buddies is on the shower playlist. It’s lady porn, and the scent alone is enough to make you lose your underwear.

“Uh… no. I would like to know… why…” I mutter, blinking my eyes and shaking my head to clear the lust fog that seems to filter through my system. “Why… house.”

His laugh is deep and masculine, and if I could glare, I would. “Why house, huh? Mostly because we don’t sleep outside in the weather, Tilly. Everyone needs shelter,” he chuckles, stepping in front of me and running his fingertips over my flushed cheek.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and fight the animal part of my brain so I can focus. I don’t know what this man does to me, but every cell screams for him the second he comes into view. I feel like there’s an invisible tether between us that draws me, and when it tugs, I have no choice but to obey. “The supplies.”

“Oh! That ,” Teddy says, lifting my chin and waiting for me to look him in the eyes. “Well, we need to expand the house before everyone moves in. Your parents had more land than I realized, and the boys and I are working on adapting the place to accommodate our pack.”

My eyes narrow. “Expand how?”

He drops a kiss on my lips and pulls back, holding out his hand. “Come see. It’s pretty amazing, if I say so myself.”

Isn’t he being charming? That’s not suspicious at all .

But I take his hand, letting him lead me down the front walk to the driveway. He stops, looking up at the second floor, and I blanch. We can’t add another floor to a house this old. What the hell were they smoking? I mean, I don’t know when it was built because I remember a little of my childhood, but I’m over thirty and…

“Stop thinking so hard, Tilly. I can practically hear it.” Ignoring my frown, he gestures at the facade. “We considered going up, but it’s not new enough. Plus, I think it would ruin the look. So we decided we’re going to go out and back.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like I said, I didn’t realize how much land your parents had, but it butts up against Jamie’s. I figured it out the other night when—uh, when we were out all night. The pup reminded us that if we all move in here, we’re going to have our own places to contend with. None of us were keen to sell, so he and the doc decided they’ll convert their place into a full-fledged clinic—human and animals. It’ll free up some space on Main for more small businesses—which Doyle talked to Nelia about. She loves the idea.”

I squint up at him. “How long have you been planning this?”

“Since the morning after our little all nighter,” he winks, tugging my hand. “We’ve had plans in the works for a couple of weeks now. We’re going to add all the amenities we need to function—you’re gonna love it.”

“Who in the hell is paying for all of this and where are we going to live while this goes on?” I ask, following him as he pulls me around the side of the house.

Teddy snorts. “Uh, gambling kingpin of the state. You remember that, right?”

“I’m not a charity case, Edgar Olivier Boone III!”

“Of course you’re not, Sugarplum.” Wolfie jogs up, clad in similar loungewear to Teddy, his face all smiles. “We’re paying for what we want to add. That’s only fair.”

Damnit. He’s got me there, even if it is only semantics. “I don’t know. It sounds like a lot, and how are we going to live here with people banging around?”

“My crew only works when we’re not here or when scheduled, Tilly. They’re the same company that helped build your annoying bestie’s house down yonder.” Edgar smirks at the last part because he knows I marveled every day at how fast they erected that place and how amazing it looked when they finished.

“Fuck,” I mutter. I’m running out of protests fast, and I don’t know if I’m fighting him out of pride, stubbornness, or brattiness now.

“Soon enough, sugarplum. Come see what Prez and I are doing,” Wolfie grins, taking my other hand to pull me away from Teddy.

I don’t miss the look that passes between them for a second, and my lips curve. He stops, tilting his head, and Edgar chuckles, following our excited lover as he heads for a space filled with planks and rolls of wire. Prez is standing over it, holding a large blueprint. McSteamy scratches his head, turning the diagram once before studying the space again.

“What’s going on here?” I ask, looking at the piles of materials curiously.

“Prez is gonna build his aviary back here,” Wolfie says, his eyes lighting up. “And even better, we get to have chickens !”

“What.”

“Yep. Chickens. It’s gonna be great for cooking, and I can’t wait. I mean, fresh eggs all the time…” Wolfie stops when I don’t respond and pouts. “Sugarplum, you don’t look happy.”

Shit. Now I’ve harshed his cheerful buzz. I can do that to anyone but him, and Teddy crosses his arms over his chest, giving me a judgmental glare. “I mean, it sounds cool, baby, but we have a house full of predators. Snakes, cats, and eagles EAT chickens.”

Prez comes over and waves the rolled up design at me. “They do, but the plans for the aviary and the hutch are very sophisticated. I promise, I’ve never once lost a bird to predators at my place. We won't be losing any here, either.”

My expression is uncertain, and I let go of Wolfie to place my hands on his chest. “I believe you, but if you let me name an animal that another one of my animals eats, I’m going to be very upset. I… I don’t deal well with loss.”

His smile is gentle as he pushes a hair off my face. “You may think that’s a big secret, magpie, but it’s not. We’re more intuitive than you realize. We would do nothing to hurt you. You can trust us.”

Wolfie leans in between us with an excited grin and whispers, “Did she just call me baby?”

Oh, fuck me.

These idiots and their laundry list of pet names, and I’ve barely done more than call them silly names in my head. Of course, I’m a hopeless twit who’s withheld that kind of affection. Raising my hand, I pinch the bridge of my nose when I realize the last person I had a real nickname for was Trevor, and he did not turn out to be my white knight. I haven’t named anyone since; it’s some sort of trauma reaction.

If these guys knew what a goddamned mess I am inside, they’d run for the hills, not build us a fucking nest.

“Sugarplum? What’s wrong? You look upset suddenly,” Wolfie says, pulling back from Prez and I.

“No, no. I’m not.” I look at each of them, smiling at the trio of matching outfits and worried expressions. “I’m not upset at all. I’m a little overwhelmed at what you’ve got planned, and maybe apprehensive because…”

“Because what, drugar?” Teddy asks as he moves to wrap his arms around me from behind.

Confession time. Great. “Apprehensive because I’ve never lived with anyone besides my parents as a kid and Seer when we toured the world. I don’t know what it’s like to have… roommates.”

“Pssh, magpie. That doesn’t matter. We’re not roommates,” Prez scoffs.

“You’re not?”

“No, sugarplum. We’re not roommates—we’re yours,” Wolfie whispers in my ear.

A tight feeling swells in my chest, and I cough when I try to speak. My eyes burn, and a little ball of fear ices in my gut, but I ignore it as I lean into the three of them. We’re quiet for a while, just standing in the middle of the yard, wrapped around one another.

“Oi! When were you assholes going to tell me our girl was home?”

I turn my head, seeing Doyle in identical—yet all black—duds, stalking across the lawn as if he’s going to beat the hell out of the guys for leaving him out.

Maybe the expansion isn’t such a poor plan. Maybe this time, it’s different.