Page 77 of Forking the Billionaire

“No,” I said. “He had a bit of a wild streak.”

“I didn’t,” Gabriel said.

“We’re all friends here,” Juno chuckled. “How wild?”

“Typical teenager stuff. Hard to believe looking at him now, I know,” I said. “But he was always ridiculously responsible, too.”

“Not always,” Esme said.

Gabriel cut her a warning glare.

She put her hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m just telling it like it is.”

I focused on my food.

“Now I need to know what this is all about.” Layana chuckled. “Spill.”

Gabriel laced his fingers in Layana’s on the tabletop.

“Well, he was like seventy percent driven, dad mode.” Esme leaned on her elbows. “Twenty percent growly grump.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Gabriel said.

Layana laughed louder. I chuckled a little at that, too.

“That other ten percent, though, that’s the part he always tried to hide from me,” Esme said. “He thought he was slick.”

Gabriel shook his head.

“Like a lubed-up snake,” Esme said. “On a Vaseline-coated Slip ‘N Slide.”

Chester said, with a completely serious tone and a completely earnest expression, “Sounds like my typical Tuesday.”

Gabriel and I shared an I-don’t-want-to-know look, while I tried really hard not to imagine a visual. Juno laughed.

“My baby sister saying the wordslubed-up snakewill haunt me until the day I die,” Gabriel said.

Esme’s expression went dark for a flash—likely because he’d called her his baby sister—before turning full mischief. Whatever she said next was going to be bad for Gabriel.

She only looked like this when she meant to take things too far, pushing the conversation outside the bounds of friendly banter. This look said she was about to mention the one time he accidentally ate pot-laced brownies, ended up falling asleep in the yard before the sprinklers went off, and stripped naked before realizing the house was locked.

He had tried to put his clothes back on, but it didn’t go well with them wet. And well, some stories are never meant to be shared in big groups.

But because she was Esme, she wouldn’t realize she was pushing too much. She would describe every minute in agonizing detail. She couldn’t help herself. And Gabriel would be hurt.

I shot her a look that said don’t-say-whatever-it-is-you’re-planning-to-say.

She grinned back like the Cheshire cat and waggled her brows as if to say try-and-stop-me.

Kicking her under the table wouldn’t help. Last time, I’d missed and kicked Gabriel, and even if I hit my mark, it wouldn’t stop her. And I couldn’t exactly tackle her and cover her mouth.

But I had to do something.

“I remember a number of occasions where Gabriel tried to stop you from getting into trouble,” I said.

Her gaze seared me. She waited, without attacking her brother.

And for a moment I wondered if I’d made a mistake.

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