Chapter 19
HOLT
T he dining table needs an exorcism. Maybe some sage burning.
Hell, throw in whatever ritual removes the memory of last night permanently branded into the wood grain.
Because sitting here eating pancakes for breakfast while pretending I didn’t watch Cindy on her knees, taking Arrow’s cock into her mouth like she was starving for it—fuck.
My dick has been semi-hard since last night, and no amount of cold showers or jerking off is fixing this problem.
I tear into another chocolate chip pancake with my hands, ignoring the fork completely.
Arrow has gone overboard as usual, five different kinds spread across the table.
Chocolate chip, blueberry, banana walnut that smell like a bakery, plain ones for the boring people, and something with bacon pieces that shouldn’t work but absolutely does.
The sun streams through the kitchen windows, highlighting the banquet Arrow created.
My eye feels strange without the patch. Good strange, but strange.
Like when you wear boots every day and then suddenly go barefoot.
Everything feels too exposed, too bright.
The hospital doc said two to three days max when they discharged me, and it feels ready.
No permanent damage except to my dignity and my ability to look at dildos without laughing.
“Weird seeing you with both eyes again,” Luke mutters, but he’s not really present in the conversation.
He’s on his fourth cup of coffee, and his leg won’t stop bouncing under the table.
Man looks like he went ten rounds with his demons and lost. His hair is sticking up in twelve directions, dark circles under his eyes, and he keeps adjusting himself under the table when he thinks no one is looking.
“The eye patch was working for you,” Arrow adds from where he’s still flipping pancakes at the stove because apparently five types weren’t enough. “Had that whole dangerous pirate thing. Women love that mysterious injured-Alpha shit.”
“Fuck off,” I grunt, but I watch Cindy’s reaction from the corner of my eye.
She’s sitting across from me, systematically destroying her third stack of pancakes.
Actually eating, not picking at her food like she’s afraid of carbs or whatever bullshit Omega magazines tell them to worry about.
There’s maple syrup on her bottom lip, and she licks it off slowly, probably not even aware she’s doing it.
My cock jumps, and I have to shift in my seat.
Arrow finally sits down with his own plate, taking the head of the table like the control freak he is.
Luke is to Cindy’s right, close enough that their elbows keep bumping when they reach for things.
She’s wearing a white button up shirt, and every time she laughs, which is often because Luke keeps stealing bacon from Arrow’s plate, her shirt pulls across her bust, giving me a tiny sneak peek at her lace bra. The sight goes straight to my balls.
“So the Halloween festival tonight,” Arrow starts, pouring himself orange juice. “The part where they kick all the kids out and let adults actually have fun. We should go as a group.”
I grab the bacon plate before Luke can raid it again. “Last year, some eight-year-old threw up on my boots after too much cotton candy.”
“That’s what you get for being scary,” Cindy teases, and, hell, when did she get comfortable enough to tease me? “Poor kid probably took one look at your resting murder face and lost it.”
Luke snorts coffee through his nose, which starts him coughing and laughing at the same time. “Resting murder face! Fuck, that’s perfect.”
“I don’t have?—”
“You absolutely do,” Arrow confirms, grinning. “It’s why we keep you around. Natural security system.”
“Speaking of tonight,” Cindy continues, wiping syrup from her fingers in a way that shouldn’t be erotic but absolutely is. “Harper is going, and I need a costume. We all do, right?”
“Leave it to me,” Luke announces, suddenly looking more animated than he has all morning. His eyes get that gleam that usually means he’s up to something. “I’ll handle costumes for everyone. We need coordination. Unity. Visual impact.”
I set my coffee mug down hard enough to rattle the saltshaker. “Absolutely not. I don’t do matching anything. We’re not a boy band. I’m not showing up like we raided the same Pinterest board.”
“Not matching,” Luke insists, gesturing wildly like that helps. “Coordinated. Themed. Totally different vibe.”
Arrow is already laughing, that slow, dangerous kind of laugh that suggests he’s about to make this worse. “You mean like last year? When you tried to get us to be the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?”
“That was genius,” Luke says, deeply offended. “And you’re a coward for bailing.”
“We’re in our thirties,” I remind him, unimpressed.
“Technically, Holt, you’re the only one in your thirties,” Luke says smugly, like that somehow justifies anything.
“Still not dressing as a turtle.”
Cindy glances between us with this half-amused, half-bewildered expression, as if she’s still not convinced we’re actual adults. “Okay, so what are you planning this year?” she asks Luke, her voice suspicious enough to count as a warning.
“I’m with her,” I say, jabbing my thumb in Cindy’s direction.
“I want a full briefing before I agree to anything. You’ve got a track record of…
creative disasters. Like the Elvis year,” I say, ticking them off.
“The sexy-elf charity debacle. The time you ordered full-body spandex morphsuits in neon.”
“Those were festive!” Luke demands.
“They were a cry for help,” Arrow adds.
Cindy chokes on her coffee. “Wait. Sexy elves?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. That story is sealed in the vault.”
“I need to know,” she says between laughing fits. “I feel like this is critical information.”
“You don’t,” I say flatly. “No one does.”
“But I’ll tell you what I’m not doing,” she continues, pointing her syrup-covered fork at Luke like it’s a dagger. “I am not showing up in some revealing Halloween costume. You know the kind. Lingerie with animal ears. Or a nurse outfit that’s basically a bra and optimism. That’s a hard no.”
The entire table falls into silence.
I’m certain we’re all picturing it, because I sure as fuck am.
Arrow has his fork in a death grip, Luke is halfway through a bite and frozen solid, and me? I’m pretty sure I forgot how to chew. Cindy in lingerie. With ears. A little cotton tail. Stockings. Maybe heels. Definitely heels.
“Not… necessarily the worst idea,” Arrow says carefully.
“Nope!” Cindy flushes, but she’s laughing. “If I’m in lingerie, you three are wearing those novelty animal thongs. Full commitment. Ears. Trunks. No escape.”
Luke instantly lights up. “I call the anaconda. Gotta be accurate.”
“Right,” I say, deadpan. “Because you’re known for your massive constrictor energy.”
“I’d need the elephant,” Arrow continues, not missing a beat. “Trunk capacity. Superior engineering.”
“You two are dreaming,” I cut in, still trying not to smile. “Clearly, I’d need the blue whale. Largest mammal on earth.”
“That’s not even an option!” Luke shouts.
“And yet,” I say, tearing off another piece of pancake, “I’m still making it work.”
Luke squints at me. “Have you been Googling exotic underwear again?”
I raise my brows. “You act like I ever stopped.”
Cindy buries her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. “This is hands down the weirdest breakfast conversation I’ve ever had.”
“There are also giraffe ones,” Arrow says as if he’s giving a TED talk. “For the height-inclined.”
“How the hell would that even work?” I ask, already regretting the question.
“The neck goes up your torso. Real innovative design.”
“Damn,” Cindy gasps, flinging a strawberry at him like it’s a weapon. It hits dead center on his cheek, leaves a little red smear, and Arrow just grins, then eats it.
“No more zoological sex ed at breakfast,” she declares, trying to sound stern while laughing.
“You opened the floodgates,” Luke says, shrugging.
“I was trying to steer us away from lingerie animal cosplay!”
“Bit late for that after last night,” I mutter without thinking.
The second it’s out, I know I fucked up. The words hit the table like a shot glass dropped from a rooftop. Cindy’s face flames, Arrow raises an eyebrow like he’s ready to fan the flames, and Luke? He’s full-on choking on his coffee again.
“I meant?—”
“We all caught the meaning,” Arrow says cheerfully, patting Luke’s back as he wheezes.
Cindy downs her orange juice as if it’s a shot of tequila. I watch the way her throat works, the flutter of it, and yeah, abort. Not doing this mental reel during pancakes.
I take her glass, refill it just to keep my hands busy, and she gives me this look of apology.
“Fine,” she says, voice a little rough. “Costumes are your thing, Luke. But if I end up looking like a Halloween meme come to life?—”
“You won’t,” he cuts in quickly. “You’ll look insane. In the best way.”
Cindy snorts, shaking her head, but there’s color blooming on her cheeks again.
“Swear on my highly curated sense of aesthetic,” Luke adds, tracing an overdramatic X over his heart.
I catch the way Cindy’s gaze follows the motion, the way she bites her lip like she’s not even aware of it.
And just like that, breakfast turns into another minefield I’m not sure I’ll make it out of intact.
The table falls quiet for a minute, rare for us. The kind of lull that only comes after laughing too hard, too long, and now everyone is digging into their food.