Page 16 of Sugar Coated

I wanted everything—and that was the problem in a nutshell. Someone like Laina, did she really know what she wanted, or was she just having some fun now that she was out in the world after being locked up for two years?

What if I gave her everything and after a while she decided she was done with me? That she could do better? What if it was deathly serious for me and nothing more than a game to her? Call me a pussy, but I didn’t know if I could take that.

That was exactly why I could never let myself have her. Not fully. Not in any way. Not again. If I indulged in what I wanted… there was no way in hell I could ever settle for just a taste.

I’d want Laina’s everything.

Chapter Three – Laina

After Mike left the loft, Fang came in. He came to sit beside me, asking, “You all right? The big guy didn’t look too happy out there.” His bare chest rose and fell with his steady breathing; he seemed totally at ease walking around without a shirt on.

I definitely wasn’t going to complain about it. Fang might not have been as muscular as Mike, but he was still six-feet-tall of lean deliciousness. A nice sight, one I could get used to.

Nodding once, I said, “Yeah. Mike is just…” I trailed off, wondering what he meant when he insinuated I knew who messaged him my location.

Crap. I had to tell him everything, didn’t I? Just like I told Fang earlier. Shit. I was so not looking forward to that conversation. Fang didn’t judge me, but Mike definitely would.

Fang leaned in toward me, whispering, “I understand.” And then he gave me a soft kiss on the cheek before he got up. “I can make us breakfast. What are you in the mood for?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The words didn’t even leave my mouth before my stomach growled and alerted me to the fact that I’d been up damn near all night and I hadn’t eaten since dinner. Yeah, as it turned out, I could go for some food.

As he walked through the wide-open space, Fang said, “I’ll make a bit of everything, then, just to be safe.” Once in the kitchen, he started to pull out various pans to cook multiple things at once. He didn’t seem to mind that he was still shirtless; I swore I heard somewhere you shouldn’t cook like that, in case any hot oil or water splashed back on you.

But what did I know? The man worked with hot metal all the time. Maybe he was used to heat.

I laid down and pulled the blankets up as I stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t a normal ceiling; it was all metal, like the roof ofa warehouse. There were lots of things to look at up there while I tried to distract myself from the impending conversation Mike and I would have once he came inside.

By the time Mike made his return, Fang had brought me breakfast in bed on a wooden tray: two perfect pancakes, four strips of bacon, and some scrambled eggs on the side, finished up with a glass of orange juice.

I scooted up into a sitting position, my eyes only glancing at Mike as he entered, before focusing on the meal once more. It reminded me of the food my Devil would make me in the morning—he was a surprisingly good cook, and he always brought my food to me on a tray a bit like this.

“Mike, do you want any breakfast? I made enough for all of us,” Fang chimed in from the kitchen on the far side of the room.

“No” was Mike’s immediate answer as he made a beeline toward me. I could tell by the narrowed expression he had some questions to ask me, so to avoid those questions longer, I stuffed my mouth full of bacon to the point where I could hardly chew. By the time Mike sat down at the foot of the bed, my mouth was full. “Tell me exactly what happened last night. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

Fang responded for me, “Let her eat first.”

Mike’s jaw ground as he examined the food on the tray, noting how much of it there was. He didn’t seem impressed—though I supposed he wouldn’t be. He liked to cook, too. Why should breakfast in bed impress him at all?

Less than a minute later, Fang was offering Mike his own smorgasbord of food, though his wasn’t displayed prettily on a tray, just one huge plate. Mike didn’t go to take it right away, and Fang only lifted his eyebrows and said, “The longer you wait to take it, the longer I will stand here trying to hand it to you.”

That did it. Mike grumpily took the plate from him, then a fork from Fang’s other hand. Soon enough, Fang was joining us on the other side of the bed with his own plate.

All you could hear for a while was the sound of people eating. Forks scraping against the plate. From where I sat on the bed, near the headboard, I could see both Mike and Fang, and it was a little funny noting the facial expressions on them both.

Fang was utterly content, happy, even, while Mike wore a permanent frown as he shoveled the food into his mouth, scarfing it down like it was a race or something.

Out of the three of us, Mike was the first one done, to no one’s surprise. He held onto his empty plate with fingers so tight his knuckles were white. I was surprised the plate didn’t shatter from the sheer force of his grip.

Fang was the next to be done, and he got up and took his and Mike’s plate away. I, on the other hand, still had pancakes to eat. Fork in hand, I was in the midst of cutting them up into even pieces when Mike had enough of the delaying.

“Just eat the damn pancakes so we can talk about last night,” Mike said, his body turned toward me on the bed. “Stop procrastinating. I know there’s something you’re not saying.”

I stuck a piece of pancake with my fork and slowly brought it up to my mouth. “What would make you say that?” I sounded quite innocent and thoughtful, but it wasn’t enough to sway Mike from his questioning.

Fang returned to us, though he finally slipped on a shirt before re-taking his spot on the opposite side of the bed from Mike. “Let her finish.”

Mike harrumphed, “She’ll take all goddamned day at this rate.”

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