Page 227 of King of Pain
The four of us get to work. Pens scratching. Lives changing.
Spence notarizes the stack and presses down the seal with a satisfyingclick. “Okay,” he says, straightening. “This part is done. You can move forward with plans.”
I stand, my chair rolling back slightly, and turn toward Chance. His eyes are already shining. I cradle his face in my hands, voice low and teasing:
“We’re gonna need a bigger boat.” I smirk. “But I want a gourmet kitchen.”
Chance laughs, tears sliding down his cheeks now. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you,” he whispers, leaning in until our foreheads press together.
From somewhere off to the side, Butters chokes out, “Aww, bros. You guys are goals. I want all—” he waves a hand vaguely at us “that.”
I glance over—and catch Spence giving Butters alook. Intense. Butters swallows thickly, gaze locking stubbornly with Spence’s.
“Okay, well,” Spence says, voice choked, “I’m gonna go put these in my office—”
He starts to move, but Butters grabs his arm, firm. “No.”
Spence freezes, eyes going wide. “Let go of me,Ryan,” he grits, teeth clenched.
Seriously, what is the deal with these two?I think to myself, not for the first time.
Between Butters’ pro football life and me managing two startups, we haven’t had a real chance to catch up. And after tonight’s signing, life is about to get alotmore hectic. Still, I need to be better about that.
Butters breaks into a grin. “We all need to go for a drink to celebrate.”
Then—still gripping Spence’s arm—he adds firmly, “And you’re coming with us.”
Spence’s shoulders go lax, defeated but… not unhappy. “Fine,” he mutters. Then corrects himself, softer. “I mean, yes. I would love to.”
I catch the subtle stroke of Butters’ thumb over Spencer’s bicep before he lets go.
So, Spencecanbe handled,I think, amused.
I pack up, then Chance and I join this found family of ours for a drink.
After a quick drink with the gang, Chance and I walk home in comfortable silence, hands linked. We step into the condo, and Guinness barrels over to greet us, tail thumping. Chance drops down to give him a good rub while I set my work bag on one of the barstools.
Chance tugs his polo over his head as he straightens. I clock the smooth ripple of muscle across his back and immediately follow him as he heads toward the bedroom.
“Oh yeah,” I tease, “that’s what I’m talking about.”
Chance throws his head back in a full laugh. “Calm down, Casanova. I took Little G out to do his business before heading to your office, but he hasn’t run yet today. I’m just getting changed.”
He shucks off his pants and all I can do is bite my lip as he stands there in tight white boxer briefs. Jesus. He catches me staring and smirks, that crooked grin doing dangerous things to my pulse.
He pulls a pair of shorts out of the dresser, then grabsmyMadonna Virgin Tour t-shirt and slides it on, knowing damn well it’s tight on him. I swear, the man knows how to weaponize my weaknesses against me.
Leaning in, he brushes a kiss across my lips. “I won’t be long,” he says with a wink, and heads out of the bedroom.
I flop back onto the bed with a smile on my face, listening to the leash clip and the condo door snick shut behind them.
For a few minutes, I just lay there thinking about everything—how far we’ve come. How much planning we need to do after today. My head’s already spinning through ideas when I hear a soft knock on the front door.
My brow furrows. Chance just left. Who the hell—
I leave the bedroom and swing the front door open mid-sentence: “Did you forget—”
But it’s not Chance.
