Page 23 of Séance

Ifollow the guys through the house, uncertain what to expect. I can count on one hand how many houses I’ve visited in my life. My father kept the perfect household and lost his shit if anything was ever out of order, and that included me. The environment was so sterile that even the air felt stifling.

I’m pleasantly surprised to find the entryway to their mansion is light and airy. Though the space is pristine, it’s not a museum for a dead woman. It feels lived in, almost like what I imagined a home would be like.

“The formal dining room is that way.” Hicks waves an arm to indicate a large hallway that leads to the left. “But we mostly eat in the kitchen.”

He heads toward the back of the house, then turns left, guiding me into a massive kitchen with vaulted ceilings. A giant counter takes up most of the space, with half a dozen chairs circling it. Farther back is a breakfast nook that contains a smaller table with chairs.

What captures my attention, though, is the back wall. It’s made of pure glass and offers a majestic view of a patio oasis sprawled across the back lawn. A huge fireplace dominates the space, a number of chairs and benches placed strategically around it in a way that invites a person to relax.

A massive grill is situated off to the left, large enough to roast a whole pig. It’s a combination of bricks and sleek steel, obviously some man’s pride and joy. To the right is a small garden that leads to a luxurious pool that seems to go on forever.

Everything is top of the line, but that’s not what captures my attention. It’s like what I imagined a real home would look like when I was younger. There is a sense of hominess to the space that invites a person to grab a cup of tea and spend the day reading.

As if sensing I’m overwhelmed, Hicks shoos the boys away, giving me precious time to process everything. The twins head toward the kitchen, pulling out bowls from the industrial-sized fridge, while Gunner walks outside toward the grill. From the way he settles into his spot, I can tell it’s his command center. Everything is sorted exactly where he wants it, the spice drawers stocked with everything imaginable.

Hicks grabs drinks from the fridge. Jameson takes a beer, along with Hicks and Gunner, but I just take a water, as does Ellis. I stand back and watch the boys joke and jostle around as they head outside, each flashing me a smile as they pass.

“They can be a bit rowdy,” Ellis says, giving me a wry smile as he pushes his glasses up. “Come, let’s set the table.”

I could hug him for giving me something to do. When he sets his water aside, I do the same. He gathers plates and utensils, leaving me to grab the napkins, salt, and pepper. I tuck both water bottles under my arms, then follow him outside.

I pause by the large sliding doors—two of them next to each other, so it looks like the whole wall is pushed open—and admirehow at home the guys appear to be with each other. Jameson laughs at whatever Hicks is saying, the man waving around his beer as he tells his story, while Jaceson just smirks as he adjusts the dishes on the crowded table.

Hicks is seated at the firepit with his feet up, looking so relaxed and at ease in his body that I’m jealous. I also can’t look away from the way his lean form is stretched out, almost like a lazy cat. Not that he isn’t aware of everything going on around him. There is a coiled tension to him that says he’s ready for action. He isn’t the type of man to sit back if trouble comes calling.

Jameson is like a hyper puppy, unable to sit still. He bounds over to me and relieves me of my items…only to shove them in Ellis’ direction before he grabs my arm and drags me away.

I stiffen a little, not used to physical contact. His eyes search mine, those light blue eyes seeing too much. Beneath the humor, there is a seriousness to him that catches me by surprise.

It isn’t insecurity, just a steady watchfulness.

It’s almost like he’s putting on a show, not letting anyone get too close. Knowing that feeling all too well, I lean over and cover his hand with my own. He startles for a moment, his eyes dropping to my hand, the expression on his face almost harsh.

Afraid I overstepped, I begin to pull away when he blows out a heavy breath. When he looks up at me, his expression is softer, more genuine, and the tension leaves his shoulders.

“Come, we should go inspect Gunner’s meat.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully, then drags me behind him.

Gunner turns at our approach, giving Jameson a severe, if slightly exasperated, look. “Why do you continue to call it that when you know you’re going to be sitting down with the food and eating it in a few minutes?”

Jameson’s gleeful smile widens, completely unrepentant. “What? Your meat is the best in the group. Nothing to be shy about.”

A giant shiver goes through Gunner, and disgust twists his features. “There is something seriously wrong with you, man.”

Heat fills my cheeks at their banter. Maybe I should be disgusted by their lewd comments, but there is something sweet about the way Jameson tries to draw Gunner into the group. With a small nod of greeting to me, the big man focuses on turning over food on the grill.

Jameson nudges me a little, situating me until I’m at Gunner’s shoulder, then he shoots a wink in my direction before sauntering off. Something about the wink and slight eyebrow wiggle has my skin warming. It’s almost like he was antagonizing Gunner for my benefit.

Against my will, I find myself scanning the big man and the way he handles his…meat. Oh my god, Jameson’s dirty mind is catching, but I’m too focused on studying Gunner to be truly horrified.

His thick arms are packed with muscles, and I’m hypnotized as I watch him work. It’s obvious he’s done this hundreds of times with his smooth, confident movements. I like standing next to him, almost in his shadow. It makes me feel protected.

Gunner watches me out of the corner of his eye, then he grudgingly makes room for me at the grill.

“Do you cook?” he asks, his voice so low and grumbly that it does funny things to my stomach.

I shake my head, fighting a blush at my reaction to him just speaking, but I don’t move away. I like it too much. “No, I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen.”

I lean over to see what he’s making, recognizing things from the internet, and my mouth waters as the rich aroma fills my senses. “Do you need any help?” I ask, mostly to keep myselffrom grabbing something off the grill and shoving it into my mouth and gnawing on it like a wild beast.

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