Page 17 of Hart Breaker

She rolls her eyes, looking away from me and back to Lily, forcing my eyes back to where they should be.

“Sydney’s the one who gave me the cupcake for you,” I tell her.

She holds the cupcake to her nose and sniffs it. “Siney.”

Sydney steps forward and hands her Lovey. “I bet they’ll be best friends.”

“Like you and Ry?” Lily asks quietly.

“Yeah, and you and I can be friends, too.”

Lily’s face brightens as she looks up at Sydney. “You wanna snuggle us?”

Boone chuckles. “I’m sure they have things to do.”

Lily looks at me. “They girl bossesess?”

“They are.” I chuckle.

She lets go of Boone’s hand, walks toward the ladies, and looks up at them. “You gots to sleep. Come on.”

“Little flower, they?—”

“We girl bosses got this,” Riley says.

And just like that, the three of them walk down my hallway toward the room.

Boone looks at me, eyes narrowed, “What the fuck just happened?”

“I have no idea, but I’m not sure I like it.”

We stand there, staring at the door for far too long, when Boone looks at me and asks, “What are we even supposed to do now?”

That’s when the kitchen time goes off.

“Why’s the timer?—”

“Pizza.” He turns and bolts toward the stairs.

Eating, whether it be pizza or anything else when at home, is like going to church—it’s an experience to be done in silence, with no phones or screens, just you and whoever may be with you, and with introspection. Also, like going to church, I’m sitting here, and my mind wanders in a direction that Jesus wouldn’t want it to be heading.

I silently contemplate what is eating me the most. Is it her soon-to-be husband, or the fact I seriously like her and don’t just want to flip her skirt up to show her a good time and get mine, too? Maybe the most horrifying part is that I think I’d want to cuddle with her and, worse than that, talk after sexy times.

Oh no, my bad, that’s not the worst part. The fact that I fucked her sister is.

When I reach for another slice, Boone smacks my hand. “The girls may be hungry. Find something else to feed to your feels.”

Scowling at him, I ask, “You know what you can eat, Boone?”

Smiling, he crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. “No, what?”

“My dick.”

“You Knights are all just giant twelve-year-old boys who figured out your hard-on wasn’t just something you could slap around to watch it bounce back,” comes from behind me … Riley, of course.

“Twelve?” Boone coughs. “Try nine.”

“Nine here, too,” I admit. “Twelve was when we figured out that the female belly button isn’t where it goes.”

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