“I did –” Breckin huffs, shaking his head, then taking a deep breath. “We moved into our separate bedrooms today. Neither of us saw what the other was wearing until we were both dressed. By then, neither of us was willing to change.”
“See, you refused to change.”
“Wait, you finished your bedrooms?” I blurt, turning to Brendan. “What color did you paint your walls?”
His smile grows. “So eager to get in my room. You’ll see it soon enough.”
“Pretty confident there, huh?” I raise my eyebrows, unable not to toy with him. The way his eyes light up with excitement every time I challenge him is simply too irresistible.
“Trust me, Prude,” he leans closer, until our shoulders touch, “I don’t need confidence.”
“That so?”
“As many times as I’ve heard you screaming my name, you’ll be begging to get inside my room by the end of the night.”
I eye him up and down sideways, trying to think of a good comeback, but he pretty much has me there. Especially when all he has to do is look at me and I combust.
Beside us, Breckin laughs. Bringing my hand up to his lips, he kisses my knuckles. “How about we have our date first, then we can focus on getting in each other’s pants.”
“See that,” Brendan nudges me, “he’s still trying to get me to take off my jeans.”
“Well, can you blame him?” I lean back and stare at his perfect ass. I bite my bottom lip, fighting my own temptation to squeeze it. Squeeze it, lick it, grip it hard while he thrusts into me, my pussy tightens while I imagine all the things I’d like to do to those taut, muscular globes.
He opens his mouth to reply, but his brother catches his attention in another one of their twin-telekinetic conversations. His mouth snaps shut as he wraps his arm around my shoulder.
That tightening in my stomach shifts to a different type of tight. Something’s different about them today. And not just that they’re dressed the same. They’ve been acting strange ever since they picked me up, more like young siblings. More arguing and creepy silent discussions.
Maybe they’re just nervous about tonight?
It’s not our first date, but it is our first time out with this large of a crowd. Hell, I’m more than a little anxious over the prospect of judgmental stares. There’s no reason to expect they wouldn’t be as well.
Chalking their strange behavior all up to nerves, I focus on our surroundings. Savory nacho cheese mixes with the greasy scent of fries and salt as we draw nearer to the festival. Small posters and signs advertise various events of the week-long festivities. One in particular catches my attention.
The Seaside Book Signing.
I read the dates and cringe, my feet slowing. It started today and runs through the weekend at the Seaside Hotel. Crap.How could I forget?I’m fairly certain if I looked, it’s been on my calendar for the last few months. I really wanted to attend that, meet some of the authors I work for, possibly make a few new contacts, not to mention Stone Ryder will be there.
Although I normally stick with romance as my go to genre to read, he’s one of my favorite authors. Hopefully I can find some time tomorrow to go.
“Everything okay?” Breckin leans down and asks.
“Huh?” I blink, realizing I had stopped. “Yeah, fine.” I force a smile and continue walking.
He squeezes my hand tighter, glancing around at the sky. It’s still bright enough that I need my glasses, but at least it’s not burning my irises.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, pointing to a row of food trucks about a block in front of us. “We can grab something and eat it under the picnic canopy.”
“That would be nice.” This time, my smile is genuine. Food. I definitely need food.My stomach isn’t growling. But I can’t remember the last time I ate any real food. It’s probably past the point of yelling at me to put something in it and has accepted its fate.
Making a bee-line straight there, it doesn’t take long to push through the throng of people and find the food lines. We order something from, I swear, every truck, then make our way to the giant tent. Finding a round table in the center, we lay our finds out and sit down.
Chili cheese fries, cheese curds, deep fried Oreos, spare ribs, something called deep fried coffee that looks more like a funnel cake, even a lobster corn dog, we have it all. Taking my sunglasses off, I grab a cheese covered fry and dig in.
“Now the rule is . . .” Brendan states, handing me a stack of napkins.
“There are rules for eating junk food?” I interrupt as I reach for another fry.
“You have to try everything.” Picking up the giant lobster filled corn dog, he hands it to me.