“Wow.” Something slams on the counter and Alice pops out of the kitchen, just in time to spot me and Indie. Her face goes red—that’s two girls blushing so far this morning, wonder if there are anymore—and she gives me a short wave.
“Good morning, Lincoln.”
I wave back. “Hey Alice. Get a good night’s sleep?”
“No.” She glances back at Hartley, who is now watching her from the kitchen entryway, arms crossed, his body propped up by the wall. He looks like a wreck. His hair is disheveled and he has dark circles under his eyes. “Your friend, Hartley, kicks in his sleep.”
“Speak for yourself. Maybe stop rolling every twenty goddamn minutes.”
“Maybe I was rolling because you kept kicking me.”
“I was kicking you to stop rolling,” he shoots back. This could go on for hours.
“I was going to make waffles,” I interject. “Want to stay for some breakfast, Alice?”
Hartley cuts in before she can answer, his eyes dead set on hers. “Alice was just leaving. Weren’t you, Alice?”
She bites her bottom lip and says, “Yes, I was just going to walk home. Thank you though, Lincoln.”
Hartley grumbles in frustration. “You’re not walking home. Grab an Uber.”
Another bite to her lip. “I don’t have my phone.”
“Jesus Christ.” Hartley stomps through the living room to the entryway and grabs the keys to his SUV. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
“I’d rather walk.”
“You’re not fucking walking. Now come on.” Hartley not so gracefully grabs her by the arm and guides her out to his car.
When the front door shuts, Indie turns to me and says, “Oh, they are so going to fuck.”
“Yeah, the boys and I have a bet on when. Trust me, we already know. Those two just don’t know it yet.” I take her hand this time and pull her toward the kitchen. “Come help me make waffles.”
Indie lifts herself up on the island bench, and I feel her eyes on me as I move around the kitchen, setting up the waffle maker and finding the mix in the pantry.
Handing her a bowl and the ingredients, I say, “Make the whole box; the boys are always hungry for waffles.”
“We get first dibs though, right?”
“First waffle is yours, Mayhem.”
She hops back off the counter and starts mixing everything together just as there’s a slight crash on the stairs. We both look up to find Scarlett gripping the banister, muttering swear words. Her shirt is inside out, there seems to be an article of clothing in her hand, which I’m assuming is her pants because she’s wearing a pair of Hutton’s sweatpants that are entirely too large on her, her hair is sticking up on all ends, while dark makeup is smudged under her eyes.
“Fucking steps,” she says just as she looks up and spots me and Indie both staring at her. But instead of a blush, she just gives us a simple, unapologetic wave. “Hey.” Talking directly to Indie, she says, “Multiple orgasms, mission accomplished. See you at the house.”
I chuckle next to Indie as she calls out, “Want to stay for waffles?”
“No. I need a shower. I have Hutton’s tongue all over me.” She motions to the two of us and adds, “I do want to hear about this little sleepover, but only after I feel human again. See you at the house.” And then she takes off, leaving just as quickly as she appeared.
“She’s . . . interesting,” I say.
“Definitely has zero shame about anything.” Indie stirs the mixture and then hands it to me. She hops back up on the counter and says, “So, about last night.”
“What about it?” I ask, feeling nausea make its way up my throat. I don’t want her to say something that’s going to take back how great it felt to hold her, have her next to me.
She smiles and briefly runs her hand through my hair, as if she’s trying to fix it but has no luck. “How did the movie end?”
Hell. I let out a deep breath and chuckle. “Fuck if I know. I passed out just like you.”
Christ, I thought she was wanting a deep conversation, and it’s too early for me to navigate through something like that. Especially when I can’t categorize my feelings, while she’s staring at me with those clear, confident eyes of hers.
“Guess we’ll have to try to finish it sometime.”
Glancing up with a smirk, I ask, “Breakfast in bed?”
Her face lights up. “What about the rest of the waffles?”
“I’ll put the batter in the fridge with a note. The boys can make their own.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“How are you with a knife? There are some rinsed strawberries in the fridge. I’ll man the waffles if you cut some up for us.”
“Deal.” I set her up with what she needs and just when the waffle maker is ready, Hutton appears in the kitchen, scratching his chest, looking half awake, but also concerned.
“Hey . . . did, uh, Scarlett take off?”
Oh hell.
Indie and I both catch the sound of vulnerability in his voice and we quickly exchange glances, but Indie is the one to answer. “She just left. Said she needed to wash your tongue off her body.”
He smiles shyly—which is odd for him—and he grips the back of his neck. “Did she seem . . . happy?”
Oh pathetic, man. So pathetic. But I also feel for him because I seem to be in the same boat. Confused and desperate.
“She was very pleased with her multiple orgasms.”
That brings a smile to his face. “Okay, cool.” He then nods at the waffle maker and says, “Making me some?”
“You can make your own,” I say. “We’re headed back upstairs in a few.”
“Oh yeah?” Hutton wiggles his eyebrows, and I don’t even bother correcting his assumption. There’s no use.
Instead, we gather everything we need and take it to my room, where I shut the door and prop my pillows up so we can sit against the headboard.
Once we’re settled, Indie says, “Quite a party last night.”
I turn to face her in an attempt to understand what she means, but she’s intent on her food.
Let’s see. She didn’t slink away like yellow-dress girl, angrily race out the door like Alice, or understandably walk out with a happily sated grin like Scarlett. She willingly came back to my room just now, so she doesn’t seem to regret staying. I think she’s glad she stayed as well.
Go in with humor, Castle.
“That it was. But you know there is one thing we shouldn’t do right now.” I wiggle my eyebrows, loving the mischievous smile I receive in return. “Don’t tell the moms,” we both say together, and clink our waffles in a moment of solidarity.
Chapter Eleven
INDIE
“Was that you?” I ask, as my character, Princess Peach, blows up from a bomb hitting her in the back.
“Can’t be sure,” Lincoln says, humor in his voice as I see Yoshi, his character blow by me.
“Lincoln,” I complain, nudging him with my elbow and getting Peach up and driving again. “We had a truce.”