30. Ford
FORD
It takes a while to clean up everything.
Thankfully, I planned for it. After ten minutes with the fire sprinklers on and another thirty with towels for everyone to help wipe up, we managed to make the grounds look halfway decent.
All that’s left is the room of mirrors. Roman handed the job off to me after a couple got caught fucking during cleanup.
I’ll do it later.
None of us has had a chance to discuss what went down with Morgan yet and, after Hawke disappeared, I went home and fell asleep, knowing the drama could wait until morning. Besides, I needed a shower. Wearing jizz-crusted boxers isn’t exactly what I’d call a good time. Not that I’d take it back.
Fuck me. I can’t believe I finally got an actual taste of June.
I haven’t texted her yet. Maybe I should, but I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.
I don’t want me to get the wrong idea, either.
Just because I think June’s sexy and I like being around her doesn’t mean…
fuck, I don’t know what it means and, until I figure my shit out, I refuse to muddy the waters.
Now, if I could only get my brain to shut the hell up so I can think about anything other than how pretty her tits looked with my hickies all over them, that would be great.
Rolling out of bed, I slip on a pair of basketball shorts, then head downstairs toward the gym. When I pass the kitchen, I catch Cobie scooping a bowl full of cookies and cream ice cream.
“Hey, Cobes,” I say.
She doesn’t answer. Pushing the freezer closed with her hip, she sticks the spoon in her mouth, then practically jumps out of her skin when she sees me.
“Shit, Ford!” She plucks the headphone out of her ear. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“To be fair, I did announce myself.” Folding my arms, I lift my chin toward the ice cream bowl cradled to her chest. “Is that your breakfast?”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” she argues. With a laugh, I reach for her spoon, snatching it before she can defend her breakfast. As I take a bite, she squeals, “Hey!”
I shove the spoon into my mouth. “You told me not to knock it ‘til I try it.”
“Whatever.” She lifts her chin another inch. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”
I frown. “And, why am I in the dog house?”
“Because you sullied my friend.”
Damn, I almost forgot about that. Not the sullying part. That shit’s ingrained in my mind for the rest of my existence. My little June Bug falling apart as I sucked on her tits? Yes, please. The part that slipped my mind is the fact that my little sister was privy to said sullying.
Oops.
Resting my hip against the counter, I cross my arms and cock my head. “You and June are friends?” I ask.
Her eyes thin. “Is that a dig?”
Oooo, someone’s spicy this morning. I lift my hands in surrender. “No dig. I just didn’t know you’re friends.”
Snagging the spoon from my fingers, she sticks it in her bowl of ice cream like a flag to claim it. “Whatever, butthead.”
“Love the name-calling. Real mature,” I quip.
This time, she flips me off.
Amused, I ask, “So, did you have fun last night?” I almost forgot it was her first Harden event.
From a clinical perspective, it would be good to get her thoughts on everything.
What she liked. What she didn’t. If we have any hope of capitalizing on our strengths, she’s a solid resource, even if we did keep her sidelined for the majority of it.
“Did I have fun last night?” she asks, repeating my question.
“Yeah.”
She pauses, studying me and sizing me up all at once. The expression is so familiar and barely takes a millisecond for me to place. Maybe she’s not all mom after all. Because that look? That look is all Harden. Scooping up another bite of ice cream, she steals a taste and finally answers, “Maybe.”
“Just maybe?”
Her lips purse. “Okay, it was pretty epic.” I fight the urge to pat myself on the back as my mouth spreads into a grin. “Is every night like that?” she asks.
“Like what?”
She smiles. “Epic.”
“Depends,” I answer, while resisting the urge to puff out my chest and strut around like a damn peacock. Why yes, last night was pretty fucking epic, now wasn’t it?
“Some are more low-key, but we want to hold more like the one from last night,” I tell her.
“Smart.” Cobie finishes the ice cream on her spoon. “What was the haul?”
I pull back, surprised. “You want to know how much money we made?”
Her gaze flicks to mine. “Is that surprising?”
“A little, yeah.”
Scooping another bite of ice cream into her mouth, she watches me closely. “You know, that’s not an answer.”
Why is she pushing this? And why do I care? “We made enough,” I reply.
“Not going to tell me?”
“Depends. Are you going to run back to Daddy Dearest and tell him?”
Something sparks in her eyes, though I can’t place what it is. Hurt, maybe? “You really think I’d spy on you guys for Dad?”
The old Cobie wouldn’t have. She was our ride or die.
But the old Cobie learned the hard way what it meant to cross our father.
Now that she’s back, and now that he has something to hold over her head, does it change anything?
Has it enticed her to switch sides? I’m not sure, and I hate that I don’t know, but I also refuse to lie to my own flesh and blood, even if it means enduring an uncomfortable conversation or two. “You want the truth?”
She nods.
“I haven’t decided what I think yet.”
With a gasp, she swats at my arm. “Don’t be a dick.”
“Okay, okay,” I concede. “You want the real truth, Cobes?”
Sobering, her head bobs.
“No, I don’t think you’re spying on us.”
“You sure?” The vulnerability in her tone reminds me of when we were younger, and she’d sneak into my room in the middle of the night after a bad dream.
It made me feel like a king. Like I was capable of protecting someone instead of needing protection for once in my life.
I didn’t know until we were older that she’d do it with all my brothers.
Yeah, when I found that shit out, it stung a bit, but I refuse to believe I’m not her favorite even after all this time.
“If I thought you were spying for Daddy Dearest, I wouldn’t have let you come last night,” I explain.
“Let her come where?” a voice asks from behind me.
Hawke’s hair is wet from a shower as he wipes his head with a towel, entering the kitchen in a pair of sweats. “To the event last night,” I answer. “You still want to spar or what?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
I look him up and down. “Then, why are you wet?”
“Needed a shower first.”
“Why?”
“What are you? A detective?"
“Someone’s touchy,” Cobie quips.
She’s right. He is, which means he’s hiding something. The question is, what is it?
“I still had face paint on from last night,” Hawke explains.
Last night? What the hell is he talking about?
“Where’ve you been?” I ask.
“Just got home.”
“Yeah, I figured out that much when you said you still had the face paint on from last night.” My eyes narrow. “Where were you?”
He shakes his head and covers his yawn with his hand. The damp towel lands in a plop on the counter. “Seriously, what’s with the fifty questions?”
I scowl back at the secretive bastard before turning to our baby sister. “Say what you want about me, but at least I actually answer your questions.”
“Except the ones about last night’s haul,” she retorts, unamused in the slightest.
Damn. The girl makes a good point.
Ignoring her, I turn back to Hawke. “Where’s Jagger?”
“He’s already in the gym with Rome,” Cobie answers behind me. “They’ve been waiting for you two. Wanted to catch up on last night.”
“What about last night?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Will you stop looking at me like I’m the enemy and go lift weights or something? You’re throwing off my morning routine.” She shoves another bite of ice cream into her mouth and starts to fit the little earbud into her ear again.
“That’s not breakfast,” Hawke says, distracting her.
With a glare, she places the earpiece into place. Her middle finger raises into the air, and she points it at both of us before heading into the family room without a backward glance.
Once she’s out of sight, Hawke slaps my shoulder and twists me toward the gym. “Come on. I need to hit something.”