Chapter 4
Chapter Four
LILY
Turns out sleeping on a couch is not as restful as it seems because I wake up from a much needed nap around four in the afternoon.
Freshly rested, a little more hopeful than I’ve felt in weeks, I stretch on the bed and then grab my phone.
There are three promising rental listings I bookmarked before my nap.
The deposit will take every penny of my measly checking account.
When Mom got sick, there were a lot of upfront expenses from doctor’s visits.
Having only worked in hospitality, she didn’t have a ton of savings and she still has two more years until she can get medicare.
Of course I helped pay for things because that’s what you do, and at the beginning, I was perfectly capable of keeping up with things until bills kept coming.
Coupled with the way real estate slowed down and the money barely trickling in, debt quickly buried me.
It didn’t help that I used the last of my credit to take out a loan for the renovation in a moment of fear and desperation for things to go back to the way they were before.
I barely make enough selling that I had to take a part-time job cleaning short-term rentals in order to pay for Mom’s care.
I’m definitely still in hot water. If the landlords can be reasonable, see that I’m a local with a steady job, I should be able to get a place. Hopefully. Maybe. Possibly?
The house is too quiet, and my thoughts are far too loud. The guys are still at work. Guilt nips at me. They’re working on my renovation. Now they’re letting me stay here. I know I’m paying them for the first favor, but I really hate other people carrying my burdens.
I pull up the grocery delivery app and place an order for everything I need to make spaghetti and meatballs from scratch. I get the nice pasta and add in a chunk of parmesan for them. I won’t be able to put it in the sauce like my mom always did, but they can have some on top.
By the time the groceries arrive, I’m already planning out the timing. Nothing says thank you like a home-cooked meal, and cooking has always been my therapy. The familiar rhythm of chopping green onions and garlic settles my nerves and soothes some of my guilt.
Honestly, it’s a little sad how I’m more upset at putting these guys out than I am about ending things with Matt. Guess my heart already knew it was over long before I did.
I’m rolling the last batch of meatballs between my palms when I hear the rumble of the garage door.
My stomach flutters. I’ve been around these guys a lot, though never alone like this, never in their domain.
The sound of boots hitting the garage floor echoes through the house, followed by what sounds like someone wrestling with work gear.
I can hear them talking but can’t make out the words.
I give all of my focus to shaping the meatballs to distract myself from the nerves swimming in my gut.
I don’t even know why I’m nervous to see them.
“Jesus, what smells so good in here?” Hudson’s voice carries through the mudroom.
“Fuck, I’m so hungry,” Cole says with a groan.
I set the last meatball on the tray and wash my hands, taking a steadying breath.
I’m drying my hands on the towel as they file into the kitchen through the mudroom.
They all look like they’ve been put through a blender.
Dirt streaked across forearms, hair messed up from hard hats, clothes that have seen better days.
There’s something undeniably attractive about men who work with their hands, who come home tired from an honest day’s labor.
My throat goes dry. For a moment, all I can do is stare at them before realizing I’m being weird.
“Surprise,” I say, finally finding my voice and gesturing toward the stove where sauce is simmering and pasta water is ready to boil.
“I wanted to thank you guys for letting me stay here. I know it’s not exactly cool with.
. .” I trail off, not even wanting to say his name.
Gage’s face lights up. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” Hudson moves closer to peek at the meatballs. There’s something in his expression that makes my chest warm. Like he’s genuinely touched.
“I wanted to.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Plus, I found some good rental options today, so this might be one of my last chances to cook in a real kitchen for a while.”
Cole leans against the island, studying me. His eyes are icy blue but somehow there’s so much warmth and kindness in them. “Need any help?”
I wave him off. “Absolutely not. You guys look beat. Go shower and clean up. Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gage grins and heads toward the stairs.
Hudson follows, pausing to squeeze my shoulder. “This really is incredible. Thank you.”
The simple touch sends warmth shooting down my arm. I busy myself with stirring the sauce so he won’t see the flush creeping up my neck. Why do these three make me feel fifteen all over again?
Cole doesn’t move. I glance over. He’s still leaning against the island, that trademark grin playing at his lips. He’s always up to something.
“What are you smiling about?”
His eyes travel from my bare feet up to meet my gaze. “I kind of like seeing you barefoot in the kitchen.”
My flush explodes across my face. The wooden spoon freezes in my hand as I stare at him, completely stunned. Is he flirting with me? The open interest in his expression makes my knees unsteady. A heat that has nothing to do with the stove settles low in my belly.
He pushes off the counter, smirk widening as he takes in my reaction. “See you in thirty, Red.”
I watch him leave, heart hammering against my ribs and my face on fire, completely at a loss. What the hell was that?
I force myself to focus on the food, on the mechanical motions of cooking as my mind keeps circling back to the way Cole looked at me. Like he was seeing something he wanted. Like he was imagining . . .
No. He’s just being playful. Flirty. That’s how he is.
So why can’t I shake the image of his gaze darkening as it traveled over me?
Why do I keep thinking about Gage remembering exactly how I like my coffee this morning or the way he brought me that donut?
Or the way I caught Hudson watching me when he showed me the guest room.
Fuck I’m in trouble.
Groaning, I drop my forehead to the counter, hoping it’ll cool me down.
I give myself a minute to be embarrassed before I get back to work.
The sound of spraying water carries from deeper in the house as I put the meatballs in the skillet.
I cook them most of the way through before laying them back on the tray and adding a dollop of sauce to each one.
I add parmesan on top of half of them, leaving the rest cheese free, and slide them into the oven to finish cooking.
I watch the pasta cook while I chew on my cheek and try to keep my mind from straying back to the guys. This is dangerous territory. These men have been Matt’s friends since high school. It would be wrong to pursue anything with any of them.
As I plate the spaghetti and arrange the meatballs, I can’t ignore the way my pulse quickens at the thought of them coming back downstairs. I can’t pretend that some treacherous part of me is hoping Cole will look at me like that again.
I’m playing with fire, and I know it. The smart thing would be to find an apartment tomorrow and get out of here before I do something stupid.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes my breath catch.
Too late to run tonight.
Surprisingly, dinner isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.
The conversation flows easily. With the renovation underway, there’s so much to discuss, all my plans, the budget—thank god they’re on budget—any issues that’ve come up and how they’re handling it.
But as we’re wrapping up, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m intruding on their friendship.
They move around each other the way people do when they’ve been friends for a lifetime.
They share glances that are conversations all on their own. It makes me miss my own friends.
Once Gage finishes, I push my chair back and reach for his bowl. “Let me take that.”
He tugs it away, lifting an eyebrow as he stands. “What are you doing?”
“I was going to clean up.” The words come out guarded. How many times did Matt start with that question before criticizing me?
“Absolutely not.” Gage’s words are firm. “You cooked, we clean.”
“But I made a mess. Really it’s okay.” I reach for the bowl again, but he holds it above his head, completely out of my reach. The movement makes his shirt ride up slightly, exposing a strip of tanned skin that I definitely shouldn’t be looking at.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I strain on my tiptoes to grab the damn thing.
Spaghetti is always the sloppiest meal to make.
I can’t stay with them, destroy their kitchen and let them clean up my mess.
That’s too many favors. He holds the dish up even higher.
“Gage,” I complain, reaching for it. My chest presses into his solid chest, and he makes a low sound that makes my eyes widen, realizing too late that I’m rubbing all over him.
Suddenly, Hudson’s there, large, callused hands gripping my hips and tugging me back against his chest. The warmth of him seeps through my shirt, and I like that heat far too much. Good grief. When did I get so freaking horny?
“Let us clean up, Lily.” His voice is a low murmur against my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine.
My pulse skips and stutters like a broken record. Heat floods my cheeks and, mortified by my body’s traitorous reaction to both of them, I duck my head. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” The words are practically a caress. Hudson releases me, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I turn away to catch my breath, grabbing my water glass and taking a large gulp, hoping the cool liquid will help with the fire burning under my skin.
What does it say about me that one simple touch like that affects me so deeply? All I know is I’m desperate for more when I shouldn’t be. I cast a glance at them.
The guys work together with an efficiency that speaks of years of practice.
Gage rinses while Hudson loads the dishwasher.
Cole wipes down the counters. I try my best not to watch them, but my attention is drawn to their movements like a magnet.
The way Hudson’s shoulders flex as he bends over the dishwasher.
How Gage’s forearms strain as he scrubs the skillet.
Cole’s easy grace as he moves around the kitchen.
He catches my gaze when he grabs something off the table, eyes dancing with mirth, as if he knows exactly how unsteady I am and the reason why. I glance out of the window and his dark chuckle floats over to me, soft and low, a secret for the two of us.
When they’re finished, they head toward the living room, and that out-of-place feeling crashes over me again. “I’ll see you guys in the morning.” I force a smile and head toward the stairs.
“Lily, get your ass in here.” Hudson’s demand stops me with one foot on the bottom step.
I turn back to find all three of them watching me with identical expressions of disapproval.
Cole’s eyes narrow. “Don’t make me come over there and toss you over my shoulder.” The threat in his voice makes my heart race. The thought of being manhandled by any of them is far too intriguing, but they can never know how much they affect me.
“Okay, okay.” I head to join them, chewing on my bottom lip. The only open spot is between Gage and Hudson on the large sectional, which means I’ll be sandwiched between two very big, very warm men. My pulse hammers against my throat.
Being around them never felt like this before. . . but now I’m single and—stop!
The couch dips as I settle between them, hyperaware of the heat radiating from both sides. Hudson reaches for something on the coffee table and hands me a gaming controller.
“Oh no.” I shake my head immediately. “I’m not good at video games.”
“It’s okay,” Gage says gently. “We’ll take it easy on you.”
“No, no.” I hand the controller back to Hudson. “Trust me. Matt tried to teach me once. I was so terrible he gave up and never asked again.” The memory stings, yet another reason I’m glad it’s over, and I shove it to the back of my mind.
The guys exchange loaded looks that I can’t quite interpret.
Hudson pushes the controller back into my hands, his fingers brushing mine. “We’ll teach you.”
The simple words carry a weight that has nothing to do with video games, and everything to do with patience and acceptance I’ve never experienced with a man before.
The game they choose is some kind of co-op fighting game that requires teamwork.
Despite all the times Matt made me feel stupid for not understanding the controls immediately, I don’t do too badly with their gentle guidance.
Gage explains the mechanics without a trace of condescension.
Cole cheers when I manage to duck behind a shield to recover.
Hudson grins when I accidentally blow up a tree instead of the enemy hiding behind it.
No one is more surprised than me that I’m actually having fun playing a game. Their laughter isn’t at my expense—we’re simply having fun. They’re not cussing me out or screaming at me for slowing them down.
But even as I enjoy myself, that little voice in the back of my head won’t shut up. This is temporary. This warmth, this acceptance, this feeling of belonging. As soon as I sign a rental agreement, I’ll go back to my real life. They’ll go back to theirs.
Why does that thought make me sad?