Page 18 of Reed

“Stop staring at me, fuckwit,” I snap at the dog, but it doesn’t so much as blink. “Is it broken?” I bare my teeth at it.

Gia bursts out laughing. “You’re not a dog person, are you?”

I’m about to tell her I’m not an animal person, but the living room door is thrown open. “Mom! Why can’t Milo sleep over?” The kid from earlier barrels into the room, but at least this time he isn’t covered in filth.

Sweat beads on my forehead, and the walls feel like they’re closing in on me.

The dog stands at attention, glaring at me.

“Bryce! Give it back, you’ve already had your turn!” a girl screeches, setting my nerves on edge, and I take a step back from the chaos, feeling well out of my comfort zone.

The dog licks his lips, and I narrow my eyes. “Go away.” He touches my pants with his nose.

Oh, sweet Jesus, there’s slime on my pants. I loosen my tie, but it does nothing to help the way my chest rises rapidly and my throat struggles to work.

“It’s my turn,” another kid screeches, and I squeeze my eyes closed, willing the noise to stop.

How the hell does she cope with this?

Thank God, I’ve no intention of sticking around to find out, I tell myself over and over a-fucking-gain as the kids get louder.

Oh god, Tate was right, it’s like the fucking Brady Bunch on crack!

The kids’ voices seem to be multiplying, so I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth in a calculated move that does nothing to tamper my escalating predicament.

“Enough! Can you guys take this back into the kitchen?” she snaps out, and I open my eyes.

They groan their displeasure, and I thank God for her intervention.

It sounds like dozens of the little fuckers all have something to say about it though. “And Bryce, no sleepover, we already discussed this.”

Jesus, I’m in literal hell.

Who the hell would want to sleep here?

CHAPTERSEVEN

GIA

As soon asBryce closes the door behind him, I turn my attention back to Reed. His handsome face is pale, pained even, and his chest heaves like he’s seconds away from a panic attack.

I know the kids can be a little much with excitement, and clearly, Chester ruffled his feathers, but God, the man needs to take a chill pill.

“Reed? I think you should sit down.”

He nods absently but doesn’t move, his green eyes wide as they meet mine. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

A choked laugh escapes me, and I roll my eyes at his dramatics, but with the look of hysteria on his sharp features, I take a deep breath and walk over to the sideboard where I keep the only whiskey I have in the house.

I unscrew the cap and ignore the pang of guilt at opening my husband’s bottle, then pour Reed a drink. He needs it more than my need to preserve it.

“Here.” I push it into his hand, and he throws it back, then winces.

“Thank you.” His ass finds my couch, and I sit beside him and bite into my lip while contemplating what to say. Slowly, the rise in his chest becomes steadier, and I can’t help but sympathize with the asshole.

“Was it the dog or the kids?”

He swallows, then his green eyes meet mine. They shine with sincerity, along with a hint of embarrassment. “Honestly?”

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