Uh… Promises broken…
Shit, usually back-stabbings and broken hearts inspire the best lyrics. Blame my exhaustion.
I move from the couch to the kitchen breakfast bar to drown myself in OJ and cereal instead of self-pity and woe. I sit in peace for a half hour or so before Jack enters the kitchen.
He’s whistling. Something’s made that bastard happy.
“Why the hell are you so fucking chipper?” I demand.
“Why the hell are you so fucking grumpy?” he counters without skipping a beat. “Where’s the coffee?”
“Make your own coffee, douchecanoe.”
“First one up makes the coffee. House rule.”
“Mom’s rule, and Mom’s not here.”
He skips a retort in favor of opening and closing the cabinets in search of God knows what with way more noise than necessary.
Elbows on the table, I drop my head into my hands. Jack goes back to whistling.
“Speaking of Mom. Did you see the pics she put on Insta though?” he says with a chuckle. “They are having a blast. Her ridiculous overuse of hashtags cracks my shit up.”
Holy hell. Would you shut up, Mr. Happy?
“You sleep good last night, though?” I ask, sarcastically. I’m wondering if he slept at all. I’m wondering if he was the one who–
“Who pissed in your cornflakes, bro?” He glances over his shoulder at me, then immediately goes back to whatever the hell it is he’s searching for to make so much goddamn racket.
“I didn’t get much sleep,” I tell him.
“Then you definitely need some coffee, my man. Black as your mood.”
I roll my eyes. I’m not in the mood for Jack’s dad jokes.
“Winnie kept me up most of the night,” I say, and that gets his full attention, as well as the attention of Cruz, who has just wandered in, with wet hair and a towel wrapped around his waist.
“The fuck is this, a locker room?” I say. I’m tired, sure. I’m grumpy, obviously. But I hate the fire of jealousy that roars through me when I imagine it was Cruz who broke the pact and made Winnie come so much last night, and that he’d just been showering away the scent of her…
“What do you mean, Winnie kept you up most of the night?” Jack asks.
My eyes narrow on him again. As the oldest, Jack got the apartment over the garage, so he wouldn’t have heard what I heard unless he was the one eliciting the sounds.
Those blissed out, glorious sounds. My cock twitches at the memory of her moans.
“Uh… what’d I miss?” Mason has joined us.
I point up at the ceiling. “Somebody broke our pact, again, and was keeping her in a very good mood for hours.”
Somebody with mind boggling staying power. It would stop and just as I started to drift off, thinking it was over again, there they went at it again.
“No fucking way,” Jack growls. Then, “You can stop shooting daggers this way. Wasn’t me.”
“Me either,” Cruz says and there’s enough envy in his voice for me to believe him.
“It was probably fucking Max,” Mason rolls his eyes. “Had to shoot his shot before she cut him off. What a shitbag! Where’s the coffee?”
“You bitches talking about me?” Max demands, rolling in. He definitely has the bedhead of a dude who spent the night getting laid. Over and over. And over.