Page 45 of Feast

“You got it.” He dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth, then disappeared into the kitchen.

Esme turned back to Spence. “Where was I?”

“Your husband’s an asshole,” Spence said helpfully.

“Madison,” she said, ignoring him. “How did she react to all this?”

Spence scowled, remembering. “She couldn’t stop laughing.”

“What’d I miss?” Tuck asked, coming back into the room with a pair of longnecks and a bottle of water.

“Madison laughing, apparently,” Esme said, taking the water he held out. “When she realized who he was.”

“What kind of laugh?” Tuck asked, passing a beer to Spence before settling in the leather recliner across from the sofa. “The if-I-don’t-laugh-I’ll-cry kind, or holy-shit-this-is-hilarious?”

“Hard to tell.” Spence twisted the cap off his beer. “But every time she looked at me she’d just start snickering.”

“I like her,” Tuck said to Esme.

“You would like her,” Spence said thoughtfully. “Both of you would. She was…”

“She was what?” Tuck prompted when Spence trailed off.

“Fun,” Spence finished, and took a swig of his beer to ease his suddenly dry throat.

Tuck waggled his brows at his wife. “Fun, huh?”

“Get it out of the gutter, Parrish,” Spencer growled. “That’s not what I meant.”

Esme sent her husband a quelling glance, then turned back to Spence. “What did you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Spence dragged a hand through his hair and wished he hadn’t said anything. “This whole thing is giving me a headache, and I’ve got enough on my plate with taxes and shit.”

“It’s January,” Tuck pointed out. “Taxes aren’t due until April.”

“Business taxes have to be done quarterly,” Spence said, grateful to be talking about something other than his Vegas fuck up. “Fourth quarter is due at the end of the month.”

“Do you have an accountant?” Esme asked.

He shook his head. “Mom’s been nagging me to hire someone, but I don’t want to spend the money.”

“Taxes are complicated, especially for a new business,” Tuck pointed out. “Better to pay someone than to fuck them up.”

“I can ask Chris who he uses,” Esme said, referring to the owner of the tattoo shop where she worked.

“Nah, I’ve got it,” Spence told her. “Thanks, though.”

“Your call.” She raised her arms in a long stretch. “I think I’m going to go take a nap. You boys going to watch the Lion’s game?”

Spence set his half-finished beer aside. “I’m going to head home, get some paperwork done. Thanks for brunch.”

“You’re welcome.” Esme rose smoothly to her feet and enfolded him in a hug. “You’re always welcome.”

“If Spence isn’t staying for the game, then I’m taking a nap with you,” Tuck told his wife.

“If you nap with me, I won’t actually get a nap.”

“Sure you will.” Tuck grinned. “After.”

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