“This is me and Kenley.” He points to the first picture at the top.
The blonde bombshell I’ve seen enter his jewelry store a time or two. Her arm is wrapped around his neck, and she’s smiling while flipping the camera off and staring at his profile.
“She’s beautiful,” I whisper.
He nods. “You’ll probably see her more than anyone. She works at my shop part-time.” He moves his eyes from her picture to the next. “And this is Leaon. You saw him perform at the club.”
I follow his line of sight and see the same man who was playing the piano clutching Easton’s side with a thousand-watt smile.
“And Emilio,” he continues, moving his finger to the next set of two frames. “He was at the club, too.”
I nod and smile at the picture in front of me. Emilio’s face takes up most of the picture, but I can still make out the corner of Easton’s smile.
Moving to the next row, he skips over the next picture quickly. “Of course, you know Jude.”
I examine the picture and question his statement. Jude has never looked nice in any way, but here, he’s holding up a drink as Easton mimics the pose, and they’re both smiling, and you can tell they’re genuine because you can see the happiness through their eyes. Something so hard to capture in a picture.
“Who is this?” I ask, pointing to the next one. I want him to know I’m enjoying this and I’m listening, so I feel some feedback is required.
“Jett. Jude’s twin.”
I laugh because he can’t be serious. The man I see in the picture doesn’t resemble Jude at all. “You’re lying. They look nothing alike.”
He smiles and shakes his head. “There is such a thing as fraternal twin, amore.”
I shake my head. “I’m not stupid. I know. I just mean you can tell this guy—” I point to the picture again. “Jett—he has kind eyes. Like, I feel I can talk to him and he would give me some awesome life advice.” I shrug.
Easton lets a chuckle slip from his mouth. “Good thing he’s a therapist then, huh?”
My eyes go wide. “You’re kidding?”
He shakes his head and moves to the next golden frame. “This is Ashton, but we call him Baby.”
I bring my hand to my chin and study the picture. The boy is clearly younger. He doesn’t have any of the same frown lines his siblings have, and his clothes aren’t as sophisticated. Instead of suits or button-up shirts like the rest of them, he’s sporting a Nirvana shirt and shaggy hair.
“Baby because he’s the youngest?”
“Mhm.” He nods. “And then there’s Max.” He taps the last picture in the row.
Max looks almost as brooding as Easton, and something about him screams dangerous. And I don’t mean the kind of dangerous I think of in regards to Easton. I mean, like mentally unstable. His lips are a hard line, and his eyes are focused somewhere behind the camera.
“Why is he so…angry?”
He scoffs. “August was only a couple months old at this time, and as soon as we snapped the picture, she started crying. He automatically thinks someone is hurting her when she wails. She’s nine months old now, and I don’t think he’s even realized it’s normal for babies to cry just because sometimes.”
I laugh. “That seems like such a dad thing.”
“Depends on the dad, I guess,” he mumbles beside me.
I want to dig deeper into his comment, but he’s already giving me so much by just showing me these pictures, so I change the subject. “And this is August, isn’t it?” I point to the last frame.
“It is.”
I smile, noticing this is the only picture that seems updated. Easton is smiling while her chubby little hands frame his face and mirror his smile.
“She’s adorable.” I muse and face him.
He shrugs. “Ciccone genes.”
I roll my eyes at his sarcastic comment but follow him toward the exit.
Easton leads me toward the hall, closing the door behind us. He doesn’t speak on our way back to the kitchen. Along the way, I take in my surroundings, realizing very quickly that he has great taste. Unlike the naked hallway, the rooms we’ve passed are nicely decorated.
The bright light from his kitchen welcomes me, bringing my mind back to where he is. He passes my hand to his right from behind his back, and swings me in the direction of a stool, his silent attempt at telling me to have a seat.
My eyes fall to his ass when he pulls the oven open. I bite my bottom lip, letting my gaze trail up his spine then back down. I’ve only ever seen him dressed up, and now all I can do is picture what he would look like with denim stretched over his body. And it’s not that I’ve never noticed him before because who wouldn’t?
But there’s something about now. Something that makes him ten times sexier. And that scares me because I know what happens to a moth that gets too close to the flame.
Chapter Eleven
Easton
Getting through dinner without ripping her clothes off was fucking hell. Even now while standing in my game room after dinner, barefoot with a tumbler of liquor in her hand, it’s still hell. At some point during the night, she figured out how to work my stereo and has hooked her Spotify up to it.
I don’t even care what music plays through the speakers, all I know is that it’s not helping my vibe right now. But then it could just be her, dancing around the room barefoot and tipsy. Carefree looks good on her, and the thought of that twists at my insides.
I hate myself; for a mixture of things, honestly. For bringing her here. For wanting her. Even for parking in her spot. Maybe then things would be different. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to do things I never would have regretted before her. But after it’s all said and done, she won’t be this version of herself. She’ll be something else entirely—and I’ll be the cause of it.
So I hate myself, and most of all…I hate her, too.
She continues to enjoy herself, and I allow her to have her moment. As she dances in place, I sneak into the kitchen to refill my drink and grab a glass of water for her. On the way back, I catch sight of her tote that’s fallen over with some of her things sticking out of it.
I sit the drinks on the closest end table and stroll over to pick the items up. I stuff her wallet, a few pens, and her phone back inside, but not before pressing the home button to find there are no missed calls. I shouldn’t care who calls her number but I do. Shaking my head at the realization of that, I grip the book that has also escaped her bag.
I chuckle to myself when I read the title: Monster in Love, a Dark Mafia Romance.
“What are you doing?” she questions behind me.
Without standing, I turn my head to look at her from the corner of my eye, holding her book out for her to see. “Dark Mafia, huh?” I smirk.
Arloe rushes to me, trying to yank the book from my grasp, but I’m upright before she gets a chance. I hold my arm high above her head, grinning even wider when she tries to reach it, jumping up on her toes and grunting. Her breast scrapes against my chest, and she feels it the same time that I do.
Her breath hitches, and she tries to back away, but my hand is at the small of her back before I realize what I’m doing. Arloe stares up at me, her breaths still uneven, and her gaze roaming my face. When her eyes fall to my lips, I do the same, wanting nothing more than to bite her bottom one until I see blood.