Chapter 6 Tigerlily #2
I blink. “Like the flower.”
He studies me for a second, then grins wider. “Cute like a flower but the heart of a tiger.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just stare at him, confused, and he flashes me another one of those smiles before disappearing into the room.
My stomach does this weird flip. Butterflies. Nerves. Something.
I walk down the hall before he can come back out and see me blushing.
Zephyr’s sitting at the kitchen table when I walk in. He looks up, and those brown eyes lock onto mine.
“Good morning,” he says.
I smile, small and shy, and play with the sleeve of my sweater.
He doesn’t smile back. He just watches me. Not in a creepy way. More like he’s trying to figure something out.
It makes me nervous.
“I’m sorry for—” I start.
The front door opens, and Jax walks in.
“Car is started. Ready?”
I nod quickly, grateful for the interruption. I follow him outside without looking back at Zephyr, even though I can still feel his eyes on me.
Jax drives. Zephyr takes the passenger seat. Then Callum comes jogging out of the house and slides into the backseat next to me.
He’s close. Too close. I can smell the lingering alcohol on his breath mixed with something else. Cologne maybe. Or just him.
“Hey, Tiger,” he says, and that grin is back.
My face heats again. I look away quickly, catching Jax’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
He’s watching me, studying my reaction.
I look down at my hands.
The drive takes about fifteen minutes. Early morning light filters through the windows, soft and hazy. The streets are quiet. Peaceful.
Jax pulls into a parking lot, and I see the sign for The Broken Yolk. Bright yellow letters against white.
We’re in Fullerton. The Orangefair Marketplace on Harbor Boulevard. I’ve driven past this place a hundred times but never stopped.
Inside, the restaurant is bright and cheerful, with yellow walls, lots of windows, and a patio out back, but we head for a booth near the back.
And then I’m sitting down, and I realize what this looks like when I catch eyes across the restaurant.
Little me surrounded by three massive men. Jax on one side, so close our shoulders almost touch. Zephyr and Callum are across from me, taking up the entire booth.
People are staring. I watch their eyes tracking our table. Curious. Judgmental. Probably wondering what a girl like me is doing with three guys like them.
My chest tightens. I hate this. I hate being the center of attention. I hate people looking at me and making assumptions.
A waitress comes over with a bright smile. She hands us menus, but her eyes linger on Jax. Then Zephyr. Then Callum.
Not me.
“What can I get you to drink?”
“Coffee,” Jax says.
“Same,” Zephyr adds.
Callum leans back, grin stretching. “Orange juice. Large. And water. And maybe a shot of espresso if you’re feeling generous.”
The waitress laughs, then she looks at me.
I mutter, “Just water, please.”
She nods and walks away, and I open the menu to have something to focus on.
The options blur together. Pancakes. Waffles. French toast. Skillets. Omelets. Benedicts. Everything sounds good but my stomach is in knots.
“You okay?” Callum asks.
I look up. He’s watching me with that playful expression, head tilted slightly.
“Yeah. Just a lot of options.” I blink, keeping my voice small. I’m uncomfortable in here with them.
“Get the Crunchy French Toast. It’s insane. Frosted flakes coating. Raspberries. Whipped cream.” He makes a chef’s kiss gesture.
“Or the Chilaquiles Bowl,” Zephyr offers.
Jax is looking at me too now. “What do you normally like?”
“I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.”
“You should eat,” Jax says, and it’s not pushy. Just direct.
The waitress comes back with our drinks and takes our orders.
I go with the Classic Eggs Benedict because it’s safe. Simple. I know what to expect.
Jax orders the New York Steak and Eggs. Zephyr gets the Hash Skillet. Callum orders the Churro French Toast with extra bacon.
When the food arrives, the plates are massive. My Benedict is perfectly poached eggs over Canadian bacon on an English muffin, covered in hollandaise sauce. It smells amazing. My stomach finally growls.
I take a small bite. It’s good. Really good.
Callum launches into a story about last night’s game. Something about overtime and a controversial goal and Theo from Seattle being a complete ass.
He’s animated when he talks. Hands moving. Expressions shifting. He makes Zephyr laugh, which seems rare, and even Jax cracks a small smile.
And I feel myself relaxing just a little. The knot in my chest is loosening. I finally put it together that they play hockey together, and it feels less like a coincidence that he ended up in their guest bedroom. It sounds like any other weekend for them.
Callum’s energy is different from Jax and Zephyr. Lighter. More playful. The contrast makes the whole table feel less tense.
But then I notice Jax glance at me. Then Zephyr.
They’re watching how I react to Callum. How I smile when he makes a joke. How I lean forward slightly when he talks.
And suddenly I’m hyperaware again. Self-conscious. Like I’m being studied.
I look down at my plate and focus on eating.
Callum keeps talking, oblivious to the shift.
When we’re almost finished, Jax leans back and looks at me.
“You want dessert?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
His eyes hold mine. “If you had to choose one sweet thing, what would it be?”
There’s something about the way he asks. Like it’s not really about dessert.
Zephyr’s watching me now, too. Silent. Waiting.
Callum leans forward, that grin back in full force.
“Come on, Tiger. Choose one, or I’ll surprise you.”
Three pairs of eyes. All on me. Waiting for my answer.
I grab the menu with shaky hands and scan the dessert section. I point at the first thing I see.
“The Churro French Toast.”
Callum smiles. “Good choice. You know you could’ve just asked me for a bite earlier.”
I cringe, feeling my face heat up at his flirtatious voice.
Zephyr kicks him under the table, and Jax puts his hand up, casually letting it fall behind me.
I keep my head down, afraid that if I look at any of them, I’ll end up staring for too long.