Page 156 of The Wrong Play

Back to where Riley was still hopefully laying naked in our bed.

I was elbow-deep in chili when Matty shuffled into the kitchen, squinting like he had just been reborn into the world and wasn’t happy about it. His hair was a wreck, his sweats were half falling off his hips, and he looked like he had just been punched awake by the clown on Emma’s poster.

He stopped in the doorway, rubbing his face, and blinked at me.

I ignored him and kept stirring—this recipe was finicky.

Matty cleared his throat. “Uh…what are you doing?”

I gestured at the pot like it was obvious. “I don’t know,Matthew, after my latest near-death experience with the ‘Elite League of Lunatics,’ maybe I worked up an appetite.”

He stared at the simmering pot, then at me, then back at the pot.

“Forchili? At eight a.m.?”

I turned off the burner and lifted the wooden spoon like I was about to give a TED Talk on the philosophical importance of comfort food. “Chili is an elite post-trauma meal,” I said, dead serious. “Hearty. Protein-packed. Warms the soul. If I were on death row, this would be my last meal.”

Matty pulled out a chair, dropped into it, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Why does chili sound good to me right now?”

“Because you have good taste, obviously.”

He groaned, shaking his head, but he still reached for a spoon, which meant I won.

I set a steaming bowl in front of him, and he eyed it like it might fight back.

“Do you even know how to make chili?”

I froze mid-stir, spoon hovering in the air. Slowly, I turned to glare at him. “Do I—? Do I know how to make chili?”

He lifted a skeptical brow. “Yeah. ’Cause I’m pretty sure I once saw you Google, ‘how do I turn on an oven.’”

I crossed my arms. “That was for science.”

Matty sniffed the air dramatically, as if he were a bloodhound on a case. “Right. And what’s your scientific conclusion? That this is edible, or that my intestines are about to file for legal emancipation?”

I jabbed the spoon in his direction. “Eat it or starve,Matthew. Those are your options.”

With a long-suffering sigh, he dipped his spoon into my creation. “Fine, but if I die, I expect you to lie at my funeral and say I was your favorite.”

I grinned as I scooped up my own first bite. “Oh, I will. And I’ll say you died doing what you loved.”

Matty scowled but begrudgingly took a bite, chewing like he was preparing for an exorcism.

I was ready to defend my honor, but then my bedroom door creaked open, and Riley stepped out looking…fuck.

Hair messy, tank top loose against her shoulders, bare legs peeking out from beneath my boxers.

Adorable. Sexy. Sleep-rumpled perfection.

She stretched, and my brain went static.

Matty exhaled dramatically. “Fucking hell. Can you keep it in your pants for, like, five minutes?”

I shoved a piece of cornbread in my mouth so I wouldn’t say something deeply inappropriate.

Riley blinked blearily at us, then at the table, then at the chili. Her brows furrowed. “Are you two seriously eating chili at—” She glanced at the clock on the stove. “Eight in the morning?”

I swallowed the cornbread and pointed my spoon at her. “You don’t get to judge. You’re wearing my underwear.”

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