Page 46 of Filthy Rich Santas

“How about you, Tristan?” Ryder says from the back. “Did you like Lana’s new piercing too?”

“What do you think?” Tristan replies, his jaw tight.

Lana huffs out a breath. “Well, since you said it was a mistake that shouldn’t happen again,Ithink you must not have been as much of a fan as I thought.”

The tension surrounding all of us shifts into something a little less playful for a moment, but then Ryder cracks a joke that has Lana’s pretty skin flushing pink again, and Tristan rolls his eyes, and the conversation thankfully moves the fuck on.

For them.

I don’t have much to say as Lana whips out her phone a while later and starts going on about other roadside attractions along our route, because I still can’t stop picturing the blow-by-blow recap she gave us, and it’s driving me crazy.

“The world’s largest ball of twine is in Kansas,” Lana says. “Are we driving through Kansas?”

“What even is twine?” Ryder asks. “Rope? String? Cording?”

“Cording isn’t actually a word.”

“The fuck it isn’t.” He laughs as I tune out their banter, rubbing the center of my chest, where a shit-ton of feelings are churning, and then dropping my hand the minute I realize what I’m doing.

I scowl at the highway ahead of us, trying to make sense of what it is that’s got me worked up. Besides the obvious, of course. Because despite the half hard-on I’m still sporting, there’s definitely something more happening inside me, and when I cut my eyes over to Tristan—who’s engrossed in his phone in the seat next to me—those feelings take a turn I’m not sure I like.

It was hot as fuck to hear about what he did with Lana, and normally the only thing a story like that would have me feeling about him was happy to hear he got some. I’m not sure if it’s being part of the kink community or just the bond I’ve got with my closest friends, but no matter who any of us has hooked up with in the past or what kind of kink any of them have shown an interest in, I’ve been supportive no matter what.

And no matter who they’ve hooked up with, I’ve sure as hell never beenjealous.

But goddammit, I’m rubbing at my chest again before I realize it, unable to deny that that’s exactly what this shit-storm inside me feels like right now.

“Okay, B?” Tristan asks, glancing up from his phone to send me a concerned frown.

“Heartburn,” I mutter, grabbing the wheel at ten-and-two to keep my hands occupied the way they should be right now.

Without a word, Tristan rustles around in the center console and passes over two Rolaids, and I grunt my thanks as I pop them into my mouth. I chew the chalky things as my penance for lying, wishing they’d work for whatever the fuck it is that I’m actually feeling.

I refuse to let it be jealousy, because that’s bullshit, especially between us.

And Tristan shut things down between them anyway.

I don’t love how unhappy Lana sounded about that, but it’s still for the best. I’m not shocked that he went there, because I’m pretty sure any of the three of us would if circumstances were different, since Lana is pure, dimpled temptation. But they’re not, and it would get too fucking messy given our relationship with Caleb and how understandably protective he is of her.

A soft hand touches my shoulder, claiming my attention, and my eyes snap up to meet Lana’s in the mirror. She smiles, and a whole fucking cascade of filthy images flicker through my mind, the kind of shit that I’ve kept under lock and key around her up until now.

Exactly the reason it would be best to just slam the lid shut on that particular Pandora’s box before it even opens.

“Hungry?” Lana asks, the tone of her voice clueing me in that maybe it’s not the first time she’s tried to get my attention. “We were thinking it’s about time to stop for lunch.”

“Sure,” I say, forcing my eyes back to the road.

“There should be an exit in two miles with some options,” Tristan says from next to me.

I take it when it appears, barely paying attention as they direct me toward the diner they’ve picked out. Then I follow the three of them inside, still feeling tense as all fuck.

Lana ends up sitting next to me in the booth, with Ryder and Tristan across from us.

It’s fucking torture.

“Good burger?” she asks me at one point, her soft thigh pressed against mine and the honey-sweet scent of her body products more mouthwatering than the fried food we’re all devouring.

“It’s fine.”

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