Page 80 of My Brother's Teammates

I sweep a splash of vibrant lip gloss across my lips, smack them together, and smooth the dress down with my palms before I press my hand to my stomach.

It’s just Roman and Mateo. No big deal. Nothing to freak out about.

I repeat it out loud, well, in a whisper so they don’t hear, but the flapping in my chest and the fluttering in my stomach doesn’t abate.

I’ve got this.

I do.

With a shaking hand, I slide on my go-with-everything heels, open my bedroom door, and make my way back to the kitchen.

Mateo’s leaning against the counter, holding what looks to be a glass of red wine under his nose. Roman’s got an apron on, and he’s ladling some kind of soup into bowls and placing giant croutons on top before covering it in cheese. They look so domesticated, so comfortable with each other. Were they always like that?

Mateo takes a sip, but when his eyes land on me, he sprays the wine from his mouth. “Holy fuck.”

I’ll take that. A nervous giggle escapes me as Roman turns.

He stares at me for a long moment, then howls in pain before dropping the ladle and running his hand under cold water. “Shit.”

I yelp, running over to help, but he waves me off. “I’m okay. I just—” His eyes bug out of his head. “Holy shit, Charlotte. You look incredible.”

Their eyes rake over every inch of my body, making me feel like a fucking goddess—something else Shane never managed to do.

“Fuck. Can we just skip dinner and eat you instead?”

The snort that bursts from me isn’t at all ladylike, but instead of making fun of me, Roman laughs too.

“No.” I shake my head. “This smells amazing. You guys went to a lot of trouble to make dinner, so we’re going to eat.”

They both scowl, and I can’t help but smile.

Teo doesn’t object. Instead, he pulls a seat out from the table and gestures for me to sit. He waits until Roman has placed bowls of soup on the place settings and takes off his apron before he pulls out a seat for Roman, too.

The two of them share a look I can’t quite decipher, but it’s gone quickly, and Mateo gives me a quick smile before taking his first spoonful of soup.

I should be doing the same, but I’m stuck, watching the way his lips curl around the spoon, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He’s having soup, for Christ’s sake, and all I can think of is him licking my pussy like he’s licking the wayward drops of French onion from his lips.

I’d love to say the meal passes quickly, but every single fucking second ticks in my brain as we eat. The longer I sit there, my thighs pressed tightly together, watching both of them lift food into their mouths, the hotter my body gets.

Every moan of deliciousness, every sweep of their tongues across their lips, every brush of their feet against mine under the table, has me ratcheting higher and higher.

The tension thrumming through my muscles is electric. The boys chat and flirt, with me and each other, but fuck’s sake, I wish I could turn back time and beg Mateo to eat me before dinner.

By the time we’re done with our two courses—French onion soup, followed by salmon with a lemon and herb sauce with garlic potatoes—I should be fit to bursting. Instead, I’m squirming in my chair, aching to be touched, empty, my skin dancing with anticipation.

“Satisfied, Red?” The sheer joy in Mateo’s voice tells me my plight is noticeable.

“Dinner was delicious. Thank you both so much.” My skin burns hotter than the candles on the table.

“He asked if you’re satisfied, Charlotte.” Roman hooks his knuckle under my chin and turns my head so I meet Mateo’s heated stare.

“Did our meal sate your appetite, pretty girl?”

Oh God, they’re ganging up on me.

Fuck. Isn’t that what I wanted from tonight’s date? Them to double-team me?

My heart’s thrashing, my body zinging with restless energy, and there’s a desperate need seeping into every molecule of my being.

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