Page 68 of Notorious Park Avenue Prince

And then there was East—inquisitive beyond belief, but there was something else that was beginning to peek through, theslightest hint of vulnerability, and the way he didn’t even notice he unconsciously protected Zac. Definitely pretentious, but in my world, that was a common theme, and it was always an exterior that safeguarded whatever was hiding beneath.

I shouldn’t want to crack it right open. I shouldn’t want anything more to do with either of them other than fulfilling each other’s physical desires. But I found myself wanting to ask just as many questions of them as they did of me.

Insanity,I thought again, still not believing I’d brought them here in the first place. But there they were, walking back to the Bronco with their arms full of bananas, a task I would’ve thought was below James Easton.

He grinned as he dropped the bunches on top of the others in the trunk. “Kicked your ass, Fletcher.”

“You wish,Easton.”

East winked and handed me the cane knife. “He can’t admit defeat.”

“I’d admit it if that was the case,” Zac said, dropping his bundle. “Which it wasnot.”

East started to reply, but his gaze caught on something and his brow puzzled. “Who the hell is that? Paparazzi?”

I followed his stare to where a boat was pulling into the dock near the main house. “No, that’s dinner.”

“Really?” East squinted as Chef Ruan and his sous chef unloaded items off the boat. “So are they gonna be laid out buffet style, or…?”

Smirking, I swatted his ass and climbed into the driver’s seat. “No, they’re the chefsmakingdinner. Did you think I was gonna put you to work chopping and peeling?”

Zac let out a laugh as I started the engine. “I’d put money on him thinkingyouwould be cooking.”

“How much money are we talkin’?” East said.

“Everything’s a bet to you.”

“It makes things more interesting, don’t you think?”

I caught East’s eyes in the mirror. “While they’re prepping dinner, how about I take you up on a different kind of bet?”

He perked up at that.“I’m listening.”

“How good are you at cornhole?”

“What the hell is cornhole?”

“A game.”

“Isn’t that the one where you throw a sack in a hole?” Zac said, turning around to grin at East. “You should be good at that.”

“If this game includes sacks and holes, I’m in.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I figured you would be.”

I pulled up to the front of the main house, and when we got out of the vehicle and Zac headed around to the trunk, I shook my head.

“Chef will get them. Let’s head down to the cabana.” I eyed East over the hood. “We’ll have a game and a few drinks while they get dinner ready.”

“A game ofcornhole?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared I’ll beat you.”

“Hell no. But I do want it noted that you have hadmanymore years to practice throwing sacks in holes than we have.”

I laughed despite myself. “Duly noted.”

We followed the winding path that led from the main house through the lush grounds, to one of the handful of cabanas scattered around the island. This one was equipped with a grill, a fully stocked bar and fridge, loungers, and beach games. Including cornhole boards.

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