Page 67 of The Princess, the Prick & the Priest (Confessions 4)

It was Sunday night, and when they’d gotten back from the cottage, Logan had called and invited them over for drinks if they weren’t busy. Since their new house was only three blocks from the Mitchells’, Robbie had jumped at the chance to be able to tell someone other than his family his big news, until they’d walked up the pathway to the front door. Now he seemed a little…apprehensive.

Robbie tilted his chin up and then said haughtily, “I’m not fidgeting.”

Priest’s lips quirked, and he thought, Nice try. “Yes, you are. Nervous about something?”

“Nervous?” Robbie gave a little laugh. “Why would I be nervous? I’ve known Logan and Tate for years.”

“Oui,” Julien said, as he trailed a finger under Robbie’s chin. “But I believe Priest was asking if you were nervous about telling them we got engaged this weekend.”

Robbie scraped his teeth over his lower lip. “Why would I be nervous about that?”

Priest leaned in until their lips were barely a whisper apart. “I don’t know. Why would you be?”

Robbie’s cheeks flushed pink, and just as he was about to reply, the front door was pulled open, and he whirled around to face Tate.

“Hey, guys,” Tate said as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “Come in, come in. Logan’s in the, ah”—Tate cleared his throat and stepped to the side—“he’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks for having us over tonight,” Robbie said as he walked inside.

“Of course,” Tate said, and Priest noticed the slightly rumpled shirt he was wearing. “You can head straight through. You remember the way, Robbie.”

Robbie nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen with Julien following.

As Priest passed by Tate, he pointed to his shirt. “You missed a button.”

Tate glanced down, and sure enough, two of the center buttons were off. He’d either been running late and rushing or—

“At least it’s only one,” Tate said with a wry grin. “If you’d been five minutes later, who knows how I’d be greeting the door.”

Exactly what Priest had suspected. No wonder Logan wasn’t the one to greet them; he was probably in the kitchen trying to get himself under control…or having a stiff drink.

“We can always do this some other time,” Priest said, making Tate laugh.

“Nah, it builds character for him to have to wait for it occasionally.”

Priest barked out a laugh, as Tate shut the door behind him. “That or drives them to drink.”

“Either way, Logan will survive,” Tate said. “Come on in.”

Priest headed through the beautifully decorated home, and while the style wasn’t really his, Priest had to admit, the Mitchells’ place was cozy and inviting.

Over to his left, there was a fireplace that had a TV mounted above it and a sitting area facing it. The front bay window let in the moonlight tonight, and as he followed Tate through that space and past an elegant dining area, Priest heard the chatter of the other three men in the kitchen.

As he and Tate stepped inside, Priest spotted Julien standing on one side of a long kitchen island and Robbie beside him with an arm tucked through the crook of Julien’s elbow, head resting on his shoulder.

Logan was standing on the opposite side of the counter with a cutting board, lemons—one of which had been cut into segments—and a knife. There was a tequila bottle on the marble, and two flipped-over shot glasses beside it.

Ahh, Priest thought, as he wandered down toward his men. So the licking, sipping, and sucking had most certainly started before they’d arrived.

“Okay, old man,” Logan said to Robbie. “What can I start you with tonight?”

Robbie pinned Logan with a withering stare. “Who are you calling old man? You’re the one who turned—”

“Say it, and you’ll regret it,” Logan said, pointing the knife at Robbie.

Robbie rolled his eyes. “Oh, whatever,” he said, and then he looked at Priest, and the grin on his face was pure mischief.

“You going to tell me what you want?” Logan said.

“I’m thinking,” Robbie said, and pursed his lips. “Do these two first.” When Logan raised an eyebrow, Robbie seemed to realize what he’d said and laughed. “I mean get them a drink. Geez, Logan, get your mind out of my men’s pants.”

Priest kissed Robbie’s temple and said, “Don’t be too hard on him, sweetheart. Tate’s already doing that.”

“Oh really?” Robbie said, as the rascal looked between Logan and Tate. “In that case, how about a Cock Tease? Do you know how to make one of those?”

Logan turned toward Tate and drawled, “I’m positive one of us does. Right, Tate?”

Tate flashed Logan a grin. “Ah huh. I’m fairly familiar with that one.”

“Aren’t we all,” Julien said, and looked over Robbie’s head to Priest, making it clear to everyone in the room exactly who the holdout was in their particular threesome.

Logan scoffed and began to slice the other lemons on the board. Then he looked at Priest and said with a curl to his lips, “Now why doesn’t it surprise me that you’re the control freak in this relationship?”

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