Page 30 of Dice & Dekes

I lie there and try to imagine what my life would be like if Viktor wasn’t around. He irritates the hell out of me, but he’s also one of my best friends. Or at least, best frenemy. Do frenemies rush to each other’s aid in an emergency?

Here is a new thought experiment: How would I feel if Viktor started dating someone?

The sudden ache in my gut surprises me. It shouldn’t matter to me. If anything, I should be relieved by the idea of him redirecting his attention. Instead, I feel jealous of someone who doesn’t even exist.

Son of abitch. Is that what this is? A crush? On Viktor fucking Abbott—my disaster husband, my emotional landmine, my walking bad idea with dimples?

I remember one summer when we were twelve, and I got stung by a scorpion hiding in my flip-flop by the pool. Everyone else freaked out—Knight yelled for Dad, Mom nearly fainted—but Viktor just scooped me up like it was the most normal thing in the world. Sat with me on the patio while Dad panicked about antihistamines and elevation. I told him I was fine, but the truth was, I was shaking. He didn’t say much. Just held my hand until I stopped crying and made dumb jokes about mutant superpowers. He never told anyone I cried, either. Just squeezed my fingers and grinned like we were in on some secret.

Rolling out of bed, I dig through my bag in search of some clothes to wear today. My options aren’t great, since all the clothes I actuallylikewere in the pool house, but at least I have some fun vintage screen-printed tees from high school that still fit. Good thing I liked my clothes a little baggy back then. All of my good pants have been wrecked, leaving me with two options: leggings and sweats. I’m a little worried that the leggings will be too tight for my adult ass. Sweats it is, then. I grab a hoodie and wrap it around my waist in case I get cold.

On my way to the kitchen, I hear running water. Viktor must be in the shower, which means I have a few minutes of peace and quiet left.

Viktor has another game tonight—I know, if only because I’m so familiar with my brother’s schedule—and since he’s not in the kitchen yet, I set about making breakfast. After all his generosity, it’s the least I can do. I make us some oatmeal, topped with almonds, honey, and fresh fruit, and two soft-boiled eggs each. According to Knight, this is the ultimate pre-exertion snack.

I’ve just moved the eggs to a bowl of ice water so that I can peel them when Viktor emerges from the hall. He’s wearing sweats, too. Gray sweats. My eyes want to make a greedy beeline for his dick, but I force them to stop mid-torso. Alas, since he’s shirtless, that doesn’t help. I’m stuck staring at his glistening, still-damp abs. Why does he have to be so damn hot? And hasn’t he ever heard of toweling off?

Viktor wanders over to the stove. “I see that you’re cooking.”

“Brilliant work, Sherlock.”

Viktor rubs his chin and squints at my dishes. “I can’t decide whether to be touched you’re giving me the wife experience or terrified you might make both of us homeless.”

I grab the hand towel from the oven door and swat him with it. “That’s it, I’m eating all of this myself.”

Viktor lunges for one of the bowls of oatmeal and cradles it to his naked, delicious, damp chest. No, wait, not delicious. It’s a normal chest.Get it together, hormones!

“Mitts off my grits!” he cries.

“They’re not…” I shake my head at him. “Whatever. Here, have the eggs, too.”

Viktor leans against the counter and digs into his oatmeal. He’s unreasonably pleased by my minimal-effort breakfast.

“Do you want to sit at the table, or…?” I ask.

“Nah. Gotta eat fast. We have plans.” He grins at me before taking a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth.

He eats like he always does—standing at the counter, spoon clinking against the bowl, completely unbothered by the silence. And for some reason, that makes me feel… steady. Like, no matter what else burns down, this part of my life is still here. Still him. And damn it, I think I need that.

“Youhave plans,” I correct. “I’ve got nothing on the docket.”

“Yes, you do. We’re going shopping. You need clothes. And toiletries.” He frowns at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought. “And probably an emotional support Starbys.”

I freeze with my own spoon raised halfway to my lips. “What?”

“Unless you want to live in casual wear.” Viktor gives me an appreciative once-over. “Not that I’d complain.”

My face is hot for reasons I can’t explain. Viktordidhelp me pack the duffle last night, since my hands were covered in ointment. He knows exactly how few things I have left.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I mumble.

“No? Then how would I pay?” Viktor sets his bowl aside and reaches for an egg.

I lower my spoon. “Are you messing with me right now? I don’t think I can handle that.”

Viktor cracks the egg against the counter and rolls it to loosen the shell. “I’m serious. You’re my wife. You get wife privileges. I’m buying.”

I turn my head away from him. For some reason, watching him handle that shell is making me all…aflutter. Why is peeling an egg somehow the most erotic thing I’ve seen in weeks? I need to get laid. Or lobotomized. Either would work. “Why won’t you just let me hate you?”

---