Grinning, Carly grabs her water and takes a sip, meeting my gaze as those perfect lips of hers close around the straw. I would think I’m just being a perv, letting my mind wander to other things I’d like to see her put her lips around, but then her foot slides up my leg and her blue eyes gleam with mischief.
I narrow my eyes, reaching under the table and blocking my crotch. “Hey, if I have to be nice to you, you have to be nice to me. No torture in public.”
Carly rolls her eyes. “I’m always nice to you.”
My eyebrows rise, memories of her hand on my cock earlier as she threatened to fuck someone else if I failed to live up to her boyfriend expectations—when I didn’t even fucking agree to be her boyfriend to begin with. “Bullshit. Tell that to Mr. Ink Muscles.”
“I don’t plan to see Mr. Ink Muscles, so I won’t be telling him anything,” she says, her eyebrows rising in a haughty way, as if she has no idea what I’m talking about.
“Um, who is Mr. Ink Muscles?” Laurel asks, tentatively. “He’s not going to come around, right?”
“Mr. Ink Muscles will not be coming around, no,” Carly verifies.
Appearing relieved, Laurel nods her head. “Good. I was about to cut and run.”
That doesn’t make a whole hell of a lot of sense. “What, are you afraid of tattoos?”
“Hot guys,” she offers back, nodding, like this is a scientifically proven fact. “I’m allergic to them. They shut my brain off. I go from reasonable, functioning human being to awestruck puddle of goo-eyes as soon as one pops up. It’s humiliating.”
I smirk, folding up the discarded straw wrapper on the table. “Should I be insulted? Am I not adequately hot enough to make you awestruck?”
“Oh, no, you’re super hot,” she says, waving me off. “But you belong to my sister, so you may as well be gay. I would never look at you like that. No offense.”
“None taken. That’s refreshing. Familial loyalty… I like it.” I flick a glance at Carly. “Did not know you owned me, though. That’s news.”
Carly presses her lips together and offers a solemn nod. “I was waiting to tell you until after all the paperwork cleared, but yeah. You’re my property now. I’m thinking of branding you, like cattle. Just in case any other bitches get the idea you’re a pre-owned model.”
Laurel nods, going along with her sister’s spiel. “Gotta set the bitches straight.”
Carly flashes a dope, sideways peace sign and tries to sneer. “Word, yo.”
I shake my head. “I never knew you were this nerdy. I don’t understand how you hid this from me.”
Carly shrugs. “Less sex kitten, more nerd when Laurel’s around. Don’t worry; I’ll bring the sex kitten back out later.”
“Speaking of, how loud are you guys? Because the walls at your apartment are really thin, and if I have to lie in bed listening to you two go at it all night long, breakfast is going to be somewhat awkward.”
Carly and I exchange a look—hers more amused, mine more sardonic. Before we’re forced to answer, the waitress arrives with a tray full of milkshakes and apparently nothing else matters beyond their milkshakes.
Chapter Thirteen
Vince
Carly’s light fingers skate across my chest, around the shape of my shoulder, and continue down my arm until she gets to my hand. Once she gets there, she twines our fingers together and settles her face on my chest, snuggling up close to me as I lie here on her bed, completely relaxed.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks.
We’ve just been lying here in the quiet for several peaceful minutes. Carly has filled the silence with tender touches. She’s naturally affectionate. I don’t hate it.
What I do hate is what I’m currently thinking about. “I’m thinking that tonight is the first time in recent history I’ve come home to my apartment and it didn’t even cross my mind to check the house.”
“Check the house for what?”
“For a man who shouldn’t be there. Someone waiting for me in the shadows.”
Carly’s expression dims slightly. “Oh. Well, that sounds like a good thing.”
I shake my head, disagreeing. “It’s not a good thing. I had both of you with me. What if he’d been there? I didn’t even check.”
Considering her words carefully, Carly pauses, then says, “I think it’s good to be diligent about safety in a healthy way, but I doubt it’s necessary to literally check your house every single night for no reason. I mean, have you noticed anyone following you around?”
I roll my eyes. “Only you.”
“I meant someone who isn’t cute,” she replies, cheekily. “Someone who might feed you a bullet instead of delicious cookies.”
“Those cookies are delicious,” I tell her. I can’t even argue with that. “But just because I haven’t seen anyone doesn’t mean no one is there. He had me watched before and I don’t know by who. He doesn’t hire people who are shoddy enough to get caught.”