Page 42 of Teach Me to Laugh

I shook my head, stepping forward. “What are you doing?”

“Cooking you breakfast. After last night I figured you’d need the grease.”

Grease sounded freaking perfect. So . . . freaking . . . perfect.

Again, I shook my head. “Um,”

He interrupted, “Thought I was going to have to put everything in the microwave when you took forever in the shower, but now that you’re out, pop a squat.”

Pop a squat? What in the world?

“Beckett,” he turned to look at me—and wow. Seriously, this man with no shirt on was a delicious sight to behold. I understood the whole hype of licking, when I caught sight of the muscles in Beckett’s chest.

Okay, that was dirty. Mind back on track, Amara. Back. On. Track.

“You want coffee? It’s made.”

“Yeah,” I started for the pot, poured the black liquid into the cup Beckett obviously set out for me, dunked my spoon in the honey, and stirred. Now I had crap to say. “Tell me, did I seriously agree to spend Christmas Holiday in your parents’ cabin?”

He quirked a grin, getting even sexier than he was five seconds ago. I scowled and he nodded. “Yep.”

“Urgh,” with my fingers pressed to my temples, I moaned.

“How’re you feeling?” Concern filled his tone, and I found my eyes connecting with warm brown.

“Like I sold my soul to the Devil’s dog as a chew-toy.” I squinted, and rubbed my temples. “Remind me, did I really agree to share a room with you for an entire week? Bed and all?” I lifted a finger, “Because that really doesn’t sound like me.”

“Not sure how I feel about the chew-toy thing,” he shrugged, “But yeah, babe, you did.”

“Well,” I straightened my back. “I’m taking it back now.”

“You can’t.”

“Really? Wanna tell me why not?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’m taking it back.” I said decisively, nodding resolutely. That hurt my head and I winced. Crap! Never will I drink again. Never, never, never!

“Already said you can’t,” he slid a plate filled with greasy food, toast that was properly buttered (meaning there was butter all the way to the crust) and scrambled eggs, to my seat at the island.

Again, I could love a man . . . if said man wasn’t being an ogre!

“See,” holding up a finger to take a slow sip of my coffee, before embarking on trademark Amara Bloom bluntness, I explained. “I’m beginning to think the hellhound traded my soul in for my brain as its chew-toy, because I seriously feel as though my brain has been not only scrambled, but shredded. So I’m not playing around when I tell you I’m really not in the mood for theback and forth two-step you’re determined to dance. If you feel like giving me a reason to stand behind, I might be willing to consider . . .”

Again, he cut me off. “Kai’s proposing.”

My mouth snapped shut. And then it fell open. “What?”

“Kai is proposing to Raina.” Beckett gave me blunt right back, and I had to admit that his blunt came with a heck of a lot less mess than mine. Still, that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

“He’s proposing?”

“Yeah,” he settled into the chair beside me, popping a piece of crispy bacon—just the way I loved it—into his mouth. “He’s my best man, peanut, so you gotta know I’d do pretty much anything he asked me, and he asked me to make sure the whole gang is there when it happens. He says that’s how Raina would like it, and being that she’s your girl, I’m thinking you know this. Am I right?”

“But,”

“She’s gonna say yes. And we both know that when she does, she’s going to want those she loves there when it happens. That’s you, Maddy, her parents, and his.”

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