8. Lemon
Chapter 8
Lemon
T he chatter of the cafe surrounds us as I sit between Atticus and Ezra at a small marble-topped table away from the prying eyes of New Haven. Sunlight glints off polished silverware and crystal glasses. I breathe in the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked croissants, trying to calm my nerves.
Atticus, Ezra, and I are such an odd trio. I watch the two of them interact like some kind of twisted social experiment.
"Try the avocado toast," Ezra says, leaning over the table, his dark hair falling into his eyes. There’s almost a twinkle in them. "It's almost as good as—" He winks, letting the rest of the sentence hang provocatively.
"Ezra," Atticus warns, his voice a low rumble. With how playful Ezra is, I wonder how the two of them met and even got involved. He is constantly needling Atticus.
I sit quietly, my fingers dancing nervously around the edge of my coffee cup. I feel like an intruder in their world, a spectator to their own private show. My curiosity won’t let me look away, which is how I land myself in these situations.
Ezra whispers to the waiter before the menu is pulled from my hand and he walks off. I have no idea what just happened there and I’m too out of my element to balk.
"Do you enjoy the guest bathroom, Lemon? I had the shower made so it transports you to a waterfall in Fiji." Atticus says, his voice a smooth rumble. His eyes lock onto mine, and I feel like he’s peeling back layers of my skin.
"Yeah," I mumble, looking away.
“The showerhead detaches quite well. You only need the key. Do you need the key?” I…What the hell is he getting at?
Ezra’s laughter cuts through my thoughts. "Don’t let him scare you, Lemon," he says, flashing his charming smile. He's like a cat toying with a mouse. Playful, but there’s something dangerous beneath.
"I’m just processing," I reply softly, biting my lip. I can't help but wonder what they see in me.
"Processing, huh?" Ezra is looking at me but I swear his smirk is all for Uncle Atti. "You should join the conversation. It's much more fun than just watching. Although Atticus does love to watch, don’t you?"
"Ezra, enough. Remember, lemon drop, you’ve got one week," Atticus reminds me, his tone deceptively gentle. He leans back, exuding a calm that I don’t think I’ve ever felt in my life. It's infuriating how composed he is, like he owns everything, including me.
"Depends on what you consider fun." I shoot back, surprising even myself with the sassiness in my tone. Maybe I can hold my own as I figure out what I’m going to do.
"She's a little feisty. Two brats. How will you ever survive it?" Ezra comments, glancing at Atticus, who gives a barely perceptible nod.
"Feisty or not, she's got decisions to make and I survive brats just fine. As you well know, playboy." Atticus' piercing gaze locks onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Right," I say, trying to sound confident. But inside, I'm a mess. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
One week. And I've got no fucking idea what happens after that.
"Don't worry, bellezza." Ezra leans back, his smile both reassuring and unsettling. "We'll make sure you enjoy every moment of it."
"Well, he might. I’m going to push you." Atticus promises, his voice flowing over me.
I swallow hard, my thoughts racing.
"Earth to Lemon," Ezra sing-songs, snapping my attention back to the two of them. "Don't tell me you're still shy around us after last night. You looked pretty interested in that doorway."
"Maybe I was just bored," I snipe back, but my cheeks betray me, flushing crimson. Damn it, why can’t I control that?
“Now, I could possibly believe that, except that nothing in your life is boring right now. I do hope that you were able to find some respite after you scurried away.”
The waiter arrives, breaking the tension with a flourish of brunch dishes. Avocado toast, what looks to be a large pancake with a creamy custard, and some kind of frittata.
"Eat up, Lemon," Ezra says, sliding a plate toward me. "Gotta keep your strength up."
"Sure thing, wouldn’t want to be put in timeout," I sass, rolling my eyes.
"Careful," Atticus warns, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You might actually find that you enjoy it."
"Speaking of enjoying things," Ezra says, leaning forward, a glint in his eye. "Atticus, remember that time in Paris? You were so serious about that 'business meeting' and then?—"
"Eat your…whatever you ordered, Ezra," Atticus cuts him off, his tone gruff but measured. His hand grips his coffee cup tightly, knuckles white against the porcelain. "Now's not the time to regale her with me forcing you to be my naked footrest."
"Relax, big guy," Ezra chuckles, unfazed. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. We all know how much you love control."
"Someone has to maintain order," Atticus replies, his voice low and authoritative. His gaze flickers to me for a moment before settling back on Ezra. "Especially when someone else thrives on chaos."
"Chaos is so fun," Ezra retorts, winking at me. "Wouldn't you agree, Lemon?"
"Depends on the type of chaos," I say, my voice wavering slightly. The tension between them is palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap.
"See? She's got the spirit," Ezra laughs, reaching over to touch the ends of my hair playfully. "Maybe we should let her decide what's fun for once."
"Ezra," Atticus warns, his voice a rumble of thunder. "You're pushing it."
"Am I?" Ezra's smile is devilish as he leans closer to Atticus, their faces mere inches apart. "Or are you just afraid she might like my kind of fun better?"
"That's enough," Atticus growls, his eyes darkening.
"Is it though?" Ezra counters, his tone light, but his eyes challenging before he shifts in his seat, his demeanor changing subtly. No longer just playful and teasing, there's a new edge to him. Something more assertive, more dominant.
"Listen, beauty," he says, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. "Trust me, resisting will only make it harder for you."
I glance down at the floral sundress I'm wearing, the one Ezra or Atticus picked out for me this morning.
"Did you choose this dress for me to wear today?" I ask, looking between the two of them.
Atticus' eyes flash with satisfaction. "I did. And I meant what I said earlier. You'll wear whatever I deem fit." His voice leaves no room for argument.
Nervousness runs through me at his commanding words. I've never had someone control my choices like that before. Part of me bristles at the idea, but another part feels a confusing rush of elation. I’m not quite sure what to call what I feel.
"Did you sleep well last night, Lemon?" Ezra's voice cuts through the clinking of silverware and low murmur of conversations around us and I’m grateful he’s changing the subject even though his grin promises trouble.
"Uh, not really. Worried a lot about my dad," I reply, my eyes darting between him and Atticus. "Why?"
"Just curious," he muses, leaning back in his chair as his eyes look me up and down. "I wonder if the cream between your Oreos kept you up."
He’s talking innuendos again and my cheeks burn as the memory floods back, watching the way they fucked. I swallow hard, avoiding their gazes. "I don't know what you're talking about," I mutter, though my voice betrays me.
"That's not how I remember it." His tone is playful, teasing. "You couldn't take your eyes off the…cookies."
"Playboy," Atticus warns. His voice is low and my nipples pebble. He doesn't look at Ezra; his piercing orbs are fixed on me, studying my reaction like a hawk watching its prey.
"Just making conversation. It is what led us here to this little agreement on the table. No pun intended," Ezra shrugs, but there's a predatory edge to his smile. "Also, no need to get so flustered, beauty."
"Flustered? I'm not flustered," I snap, hoping to sound more confident than I feel. My fingers toy with the edge of the napkin in my lap, desperate for something to do.
"Really?" Ezra leans forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "Because you're blushing like a schoolgirl."
"Fuck off," I hiss, but the heat creeping up my neck betrays me.
"Language, Lemon," Atticus chides, though there's an amused glint in his eyes. "He's right, though. You're blushing."
"Am not," I retort, even as I feel my face growing hotter.
"There's no shame in it," Ezra continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Curiosity is natural."
"Curiosity killed the cat," I mutter, trying to regain some semblance of control.
"Good thing you're not a cat then," Ezra quips, winking at me. "I bet you have one helluva pussy, though."
"Oh my god," I groan, sinking lower in my seat. The air feels thick, making it hard to breathe.
"Enough, Stratton," Atticus states firmly, his authoritative tone a bit gruff. "We're here to enjoy our food, not embarrass her. It’s as if you want an excessive punishment."
"Fine, fine," Ezra concedes, though his gaze lingers on me, a promise of more provocations to come. "But honestly, Lemon. You need to loosen up. Enjoy yourself. Life's too short to be so uptight."
"Easy for you to say," I shoot back. "You're not the one caught between a rock and a hard place. "
"Or between two men," Atticus adds, his tone neutral but the implication clear.
"Exactly," I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "You two have no idea what it's like."
"Mm either way, it's going to be an interesting week," Ezra says, as he cuts into his thick, flaky pancake, releasing a puff of lemony steam. "For all of us."
He spears a bite with his fork, the golden curd oozing from between the layers, and brings it to his lips.
"Mm..." he moans, closing his eyes as he chews. "This lemon curd is exquisite. So creamy and sweet, with just the right amount of tartness."
He swallows and looks at me, his eyes dark. "It practically melts on your tongue, the citrus exploding with flavor. I can just imagine what it would taste like licked from soft, warm skin."
He takes another slow bite, closing his eyes as if in rapture. "It's like an orgasm for your taste buds. The way it just bursts and floods your senses..."
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, a flush creeping up my neck as Ezra continues his lewd display. Atticus remains stoic, though there's a subtle tension in his jaw as he watches Ezra's performance.
I shift in my seat, heat rising to my cheeks. Ezra's gaze rakes over me, utterly shameless.
"Here, you simply must try it," he says, gathering another bite onto his fork and holding it out toward me. "Don't worry, I made sure they used all vegan approved ingredients just for you."
I eye the offered bite warily. Behind Ezra, Atticus watches us like a hawk, his expression unreadable. With a defiant glare at them both, I take the fork from Ezra's hand and slip it between my lips. It is sweet and tart on my tongue, smooth and decadent. I close my eyes with a soft hum of pleasure I can't restrain.
When I open them, Ezra is staring at my mouth, his own lips parted. Slowly, he drags his thumb across the corner of my lips.
"You had a little something there," he murmurs. His touch burns. I jerk back, heart racing.
I swallow and glare at him. "It's very good. Thank you."
"So polite," Ezra tuts, his voice dripping condescension. "But we both know you want more than a tiny taste..."
Atticus clears his throat sharply. "That's enough. Eat your pancake and stop tormenting her."
Ezra shrugs, still smirking. "As you wish. I'm just trying to get Lemon to embrace all life has to offer. Broaden her horizons a bit." He winks at me and I have to look away, flustered and frustrated.
This is going to be a very long breakfast.