1. Lilly
Lilly
FEB. 7TH - FRIDAY
I 'm not good at cooking. Box mac-and-cheese is complicated enough, and of course, this website has like eight million ingredients to make a fancy version of cheese and noodles. The motivation I had to cook the guys a meal from scratch is rapidly dwindling. I can't remember the measurements for longer than five seconds. This shouldn't be this hard .
Growling at the shredded Gruyere cheese that took me forever to find at the store, I measure out two cups, spilling some of it as I go because, of course, I have to make a mess.
With a sigh, I nibble the inside of my cheek while swearing to myself I'll clean it up before I feed the guys. I don't want them to come into a dirty kitchen and, most likely, ruined macaroni. Shaking my head, I attempt to dislodge my worries.
They won't be mad. I'm doing a nice thing. For shit's sake, they're the best men... They won't actually be upset with me for messing up the kitchen. Although Aaron did clean it before he left for his interview today.
With a huff of annoyance at the bout of anxiety that's trying to steal more of my good mood, I finish with the cheeses. My afternoon continues similarly, with laughter echoing up from the basement and Lady Gaga thumping around me.
I made Dean and Caleb promise to let me make them something by myself. Who knows what trouble they're getting up to down there?
Eyeing the cheesy concoction in two separate glass cake pans, I wipe the sweat from my forehead before bending over and putting them in the oven. With a huff, I whip my T-shirt off and toss it on a bar stool.
In leggings and a black sports bra, I tighten my short red pigtails and get to work on cleaning up the kitchen. As much as I would rather go curl up on the couch with my book, everyone will be happier eating dinner in a clean space.
My bare toes smoosh in a clump of cheese. "Ugh," I grumble and bend to pluck the goo from between my toes.
"Damn, girl..."
A smirk steals the cringe from my face. With the cheese tossed aside, I peek around my legs, still bent over like an offering for Dean and Caleb. "What?" I tease, batting my lashes.
Moaning under his breath, Caleb folds himself over me, pressing his hard cock against my ass. Against my ear, he rumbles, "These leggings are a little see-through, dirty girl. You trying to entice me and my brother with those hot pink panties?"
I make a mental note not to wear this pair out in public anymore and wiggle against his bulge. Pushing myself back up, Caleb keeps himself tucked against me with his arms around my bare waist. "Sounds like you need to take me shopping."
"It's a date," Dean agrees, smiling over at me as he wipes away some cream I spilled on the counter.
I frown even as I tilt my head to the side to allow his twin brother access to kiss and nibble on my sensitive flesh. "You didn't have to do that, D. But thank you."
"You're welcome." Dean kisses my cheek on his way to grab the lightweight vacuum. I can't resist watching his tight ass walk away, his sweatpants doing nothing to hide what his squats do for him.
Caleb chuckles and spins me around before lifting me up onto the counter. "Want to see mine, too?"
I swat his chest with a laugh. His black hair flops over his forehead haphazardly, and like always, his bright gray eyes gleam with barely restrained mischievousness. "Move. I need to clean up my mess. Please," I add, hoping he'll listen.
"No." One dark brow quirks, and his plump lips twist as usual with a slight grin. This man tests my patience. Lifting his clean, sharp jaw toward my e-reader on the charger beside the coffeepot, he says, "Go read. You made dinner."
"We'll clean up!" Dean's smile is softer, his heart and feelings always worn on his sleeve. "Dinner smells good, baby."
My shoulders straighten, making my breasts pop out, and my men eye me like I'm the only meal they want. Between Dean's praise and their obvious appreciation of my body, I'm on cloud fucking nine.
I don't fight them when they set me up on the couch with a glass of wine, my favorite blanket, chocolate-covered almonds and my e-reader. The girl in my book just got kidnapped, but my attention is split between the story and my two guys cleaning the kitchen.
I watch them over the back of the couch, feeling comforted and taken care of. I do feel bad for not helping them clean, but it looks like they're having fun with it, so I snuggle in and wait for the timer to beep.
"Oh shit!" I shout and jump from my little cocoon. Rushing to the kitchen, I ignore their worried looks and set the timer on the microwave for fifty-five minutes. Hopefully, that'll give me enough time to check it before it burns.
Before they can poke fun at me for forgetting, the garage door opens. My heart thumps fast, excited to see Aaron and hear about his day.