CHAPTER NINETEEN
UNDER THE TABLE
Elise
Teddy shows up on a Thursday with zero warning and a bag of groceries like he’s planning to stay for dinner.
“Surprise!” He’s grinning in the doorway, completely oblivious to the panic radiating off all four of us. “Thought I’d check on my baby sister. Make sure these idiots are treating you right.”
I’m wearing Wyatt’s hoodie. There’s a hickey on my neck I thought I’d covered with concealer. And Jordie’s hand was literally up my shirt thirty seconds before the doorbell rang.
“Teddy. Hi.” I force my voice to sound normal even though my heart is trying to escape my chest. “This is… unexpected.”
“That’s the point of a surprise, Ellie.” He pushes past me into the house, setting the groceries on the counter. “Hey, Grant. Didn’t know you’d be home. Usually you’re at the rink.”
Grant’s leaning against the counter with carefully constructed casualness, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. “Day off.”
“Perfect. We can all have dinner together. Like old times.” Teddy starts unpacking—steaks, potatoes, beer. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Here.” Jordie appears from the living room, smile bright and innocent. Too innocent. “Teddy, man. Good to see you.”
“Dickson.” They do that bro-hug thing. “How’s the season looking?”
“Good. Great. We’re—yeah, good.”
Smooth, Jordie. Real smooth.
Wyatt emerges from the hallway, and I watch Teddy’s eyes track to him, then to me, then back. His expression shifts slightly—something calculating working behind those protective older brother eyes.
“Wyatt Carter, right? Defenseman?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt’s voice is carefully neutral. “Nice to meet you properly.”
Teddy eyes the hoodie I’m wearing. The one that’s three sizes too big and clearly not mine.
Shit.
“So!” I clap my hands together with forced enthusiasm. “Dinner. You’re making dinner. That’s… great.”
“Yeah, figured you could use a real meal.” Teddy’s already pulling out a cutting board. “You eating enough? You look thin.”
“I’m fine, Teddy.”
“You’re studying too hard. I can tell.” He points the knife at Grant. “You’re supposed to be looking after her.”
Grant’s jaw ticks. “She doesn’t need looking after.”
“She’s my baby sister. Everyone needs to look after her.”
I want to scream. Or hide. Or both.
The next two hours are torture.
Teddy insists on cooking while interrogating all of us about school, hockey, my grades, whether I’m sleeping enough, eating enough, studying too much, going out too much. He’s in full protective brother mode and it’s suffocating.
The guys are trying. They really are. But Jordie keeps making eyes at me from across the kitchen. Wyatt’s fingers brush mine every time he passes. And Grant won’t look at me at all, which is somehow worse.
By the time we sit down for dinner, I’m wound so tight I might snap.
Teddy’s at the head of the table—of course. I’m on his right. Grant across from me. Jordie and Wyatt on either side of me.
“This looks great, Teddy,” I say, cutting into my steak with more force than necessary.
“Mom’s recipe.” He’s watching me like he’s cataloging every micro-expression. “So, Ellie. How’s the pre-med program treating you?”
“It’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
“It’s good. Great. Challenging but good.”
Under the table, someone’s foot finds mine. Jordie, based on the angle. He’s smirking into his beer.
“And you’re staying focused? Not letting anything distract you?”
“I’m very focused.”
Jordie’s foot slides up my calf. Slowly. Deliberately.
I kick him. He doesn’t stop.
“Because med school applications are coming up,” Teddy continues. “You need to keep your grades perfect. No room for error.”
“I know, Teddy.”
“No partying. No drama.” His eyes flick to Grant, then away. “No complications.”
Grant’s grip on his fork tightens. “She’s an adult, Teddy. She can handle her own life.”
“I’m just making sure—”
“I’m fine,” I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intend. “Can we please talk about something other than my GPA?”
Jordie presses one hand between my thighs, and I’m going to murder him. I widen my legs slightly—permission or warning, I’m not sure which—and his eyes darken.
Wyatt notices. His hand finds my knee under the table, squeezes once. Grounding. But then his fingers start tracing patterns on my inner thigh and I realize grounding isn’t his intention.
I take a long drink of water. Try to focus on Teddy’s story about work. Something about a client and a contract. I’m not processing words.
Because Wyatt’s hand is sliding higher. Slowly. Testing.
And Jordie’s still got his hand pressed between my legs, adding pressure that’s making it hard to breathe normally.
I’m going to kill them both.
Or come at the dinner table in front of my brother.
One or the other.
I reach under the table, find Jordie’s thigh, dig my nails in hard enough to leave marks. He doesn’t even flinch. Just grins wider.
Wyatt’s fingers reach the seam of my legging, trace along it with maddening lightness. I shift slightly, trying to give him access without being obvious, and his hand slips beneath the fabric, finding bare skin.
My breath catches.
“You okay?” Teddy’s looking at me with concern.
“Fine. Just—” I cough. “Wrong pipe.”
Wyatt’s fingers slide lower, finding heat and wetness, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
Grant is staring at me from across the table. He knows. I can see it in his eyes. The way they’ve gone dark. The way his jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack.
He’s not touching me. Can’t reach me from where he’s sitting. And he looks furious about it.
Under the table, I reach for Wyatt, palming his thigh. Slide my hand higher until I find him hard and straining against his jeans.
His eyes flash. Warning or permission, I can’t tell.
I palm him through the denim, slow and deliberate, and watch his face carefully blank out.
“So Grant,” Teddy says, completely oblivious. “Season’s going well?”
“Yeah.” Grant’s voice is strained. “Really well.”
I squeeze Wyatt gently and he makes a sound he tries to cover with a cough.
Wyatt’s fingers are working me now, slow circles that are building tension I can’t release. I’m going to come. Right here. At this table. With my brother three feet away.
The thought should horrify me. Instead it just makes everything hotter.
Jordie’s shifted closer, his hand finding my other thigh under the table, squeezing possessively.
So I’ve got Wyatt’s fingers between my legs, Jordie’s hand on my thigh, and my hand on Wyatt’s dick, and Teddy is talking about playoff predictions like this is a normal family dinner.
“Ellie?” Teddy’s voice cuts through the haze. “You’re being quiet.”
“Just enjoying the steak.” My voice comes out breathier than I intend.
Wyatt’s thumb finds my clit and I nearly drop my fork.
“You sure you’re okay? You look flushed.”
“I’m fine. Just warm. The heater’s up too high.”
Wyatt’s hips shift slightly under my hand, seeking more pressure. I give it to him, stroking him through his jeans with careful, hidden movements.
Grant’s glaring at Wyatt now. Pure jealousy radiating off him because Wyatt gets to touch me and he doesn’t.
“More potatoes?” Jordie offers cheerfully, like his hand isn’t gripping my thigh hard enough to bruise.
“I’m good.”
“You sure? You look like you could use… something.”
I’m going to kill him. Slowly.
Wyatt adds a second finger and I have to disguise my gasp as a cough. The tension is building, coiling tight in my core, and I’m so close. Too close.
Not here. Not now. Not with Teddy right there.
I squeeze Wyatt harder than I intend and he makes this choked sound that he covers by clearing his throat.
“ Wyatt, you alright?” Teddy asks.
“Fine. Great. Just—” He reaches for his water with his free hand. “Thirsty.”
Wyatt’s rhythm is steady now, relentless, and I can feel myself getting close to the edge. My hand on him falters, movements becoming erratic, and his eyes meet mine across the table with heat that could start fires.
“I need—” I stand abruptly, Wyatt’s hand slipping away. “Bathroom. Excuse me.”
I practically run from the table, hear Teddy asking if I’m sure I’m okay, hear Jordie making some excuse about me studying too hard.
I lock myself in the downstairs bathroom and lean against the door, breathing hard, still wound tight from Wyatt’s fingers and the absolute insanity of what just happened.
A soft knock. “Ellie? You okay?”
Teddy. Of course.
“Fine! Just needed a minute.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not acting weird.”
“You are. All of you are. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
Silence. Then: “Is something happening between you and one of them?”
My heart stops. “What?”
“I’m not stupid, Ellie. The way Wyatt looks at you. The way you’re wearing his hoodie. The way Grant can’t seem to look at you without—” He stops. “Just tell me. Are you dating one of my friends?”
I close my eyes. “Teddy—”
“Because if you are, I need to know. I need to make sure he’s treating you right. That you’re being safe. That—”
“I’m an adult,” I say firmly. “And my relationships are my business.”
“Relationships? Plural?”
Shit.
“I didn’t—that’s not—”
“Ellie.” His voice is different now. Harder. “Open the door.”
“No.”
“Open. The door.”
“Go away, Teddy.”
I hear him walk away. Hear raised voices from the kitchen. Grant’s low and dangerous. Teddy’s loud and angry.
This is a disaster.
I take a breath. Fix my hair. Try to look like I wasn’t thirty seconds away from coming at the dinner table.
Then I open the door and walk into the war zone that used to be our kitchen.