Page 97 of Filthy Rich Santas

He saunters over, then takes the suitcase from my hands and kisses the tip of my nose. “Good.”

I laugh. “Good?”

“If you were too perfect, I’d be in big trouble.”

He keeps flirting with me as we check out and load up the SUV, and even though I do feel a bit worn out, the glow is back. Even Beckett’s grouchiness feels endearing.

He huffs out a breath when I claim the back seat with him, his body stiffening up. If he wanted space, though, he could take it. When he doesn’t, I lean against him to rest my head on his shoulder and I find myself smiling with a deep contentment I rarely feel.

Ryder gets behind the wheel, and as he and Tristan talk about the route ahead and pull away from the hotel, I look outside at the wintery landscape, trying to soak it all in. The sexual adventures I’ve already had with these three have been amazing, but the quiet comfort in moments like this is something I’ll miss too.

I nod off for a bit, lulled by the gentle hum of the engine and Beckett’s warmth beside me. When I come to, Ryder and Tristan are deep in conversation about some band they both like.

“…and that’s why their second album was clearly superior,” Tristan is saying, gesturing emphatically.

Ryder scoffs. “You’re out of your mind. The first album had way more raw energy.”

I stretch, careful not to elbow Beckett. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing important,” Beckett grunts, his eyes still fixed on the snowy landscape rushing past us.

It’s got nothing on the cold waves coming off him, though. He may have allowed me to sleep against his body, but it feels like his emotions are locked away behind a wall of pure ice.

I roll my eyes, but can’t help the fond smile that tugs at my lips. Grumpy Beckett is kind of adorable, not that I’d ever tell him that. Still, it gives me a slight pang in my chest since we have so little time left before we go our separate ways again.

Not that an agreement to explore kinks gives me the right to more of him, but it already feels like I’ve been getting closer to him—to all three of them—than I have to anyone in a long time. Maybe ever.

Greedily, I want more of that.

I just wish he wanted it too.

“How you feeling, love?” Ryder asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. “You conked out pretty hard there.”

I wave off his concern, even as I notice the lingering heaviness in my limbs. “I’m fine. Just catching up on beauty sleep.”

Tristan turns in his seat, giving me a once-over that makes my cheeks heat. “Trust me, you don’t need it.”

Before I can respond, Ryder lets out a bark of laughter. “Oh man, remember that time we took the train to New York to try and sneak into that concert, but you passed out just as hard on the ride down?”

Tristan groans. “Don’t remind me. We were so close to getting in…”

“Until genius over here,” Ryder jerks his thumb at Beckett, “decided to pick a fight with the bouncer.”

I turn to Beckett, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t.”

He shrugs, face and body language still completely closed off, and for a moment, I think that’s all I’m going to get.

“Oh, trust me, he very, very much did,” Ryder responds, laughing.

Beckett grunts. Then, the barest hint of a smirk playing at his lips, he mutters, “The guy was being an asshole.”

“Yeah, and your dad was even more of an asshole when he had to come bail us out,” Tristan scoffs, his tone light but his eyes watchful.

The shift in Beckett’s demeanor is immediate. His jaw clenches, his entire body going completely rigid beside me.

“Shit, sorry, man,” Ryder says quickly. “We shouldn’t have brought that up. Your old man is dead to all of us.”

I look between them, sensing the tension. “What happened?”

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