1. Elio #2
That only makes me smile as I glance toward the kitchen. Mr. Hawthorne, Khalil, is still at the counter with his wine, listening while Zaire’s mom searches through one of the cabinets for something.
He moved in next door a few years ago with Dax, newly divorced, and it didn’t take long for all three of us to start noticing whenever he showed up at cookouts or wandered over for dinner.
Auden pretends he’s better about it than Zaire and me, but I’ve caught those amber eyes following him enough times to know better.
My interest just has a little more history behind it.
I know what Khalil’s mouth feels like when he stops telling me something is a bad idea. I know how quickly that controlled voice changes when I get close enough, and I know he gets irritated every time I remind him that one time was a rule he made after the fact.
The memory heats the back of my neck as he laughs at something Mrs. Bennett says, completely unaware that half the living room has decided he’s our best shot at saving Saturday.
Zaire nudges my side with his knee. When I look back, his gaze flicks toward the kitchen before meeting mine, one corner of his mouth lifting. He knows exactly where my head went, which earns him a quiet kick to the ankle before I reach for my bowl again.
Dax catches the exchange and frowns. “Whatever you two are thinking, stop.”
“I haven’t done anything.” I take another bite of lasagna, meeting his stare without much effort.
“That has never meant shit where you’re concerned.” Dax looks past me when Carter says somebody has to ask him, then shakes his head. “You know what? Fine. Ask. He’s going to tell you no anyway.”
Auden shifts his leg enough to let me stand. “You seem very confident about that.”
“I do.” Dax picks up his drink and settles farther into the couch. “He has better things to do on a Saturday night than keep grown men from doing something stupid.”
“That’s why we’re sending Elio,” Carter says. He gestures toward the kitchen with his chin. “Go make yourself useful.”
I set my bowl on the coffee table and smooth a hand over the front of my shirt. “Finally, somebody appreciates what I bring to this fraternity.”
Nobody bothers answering me. Fair enough.
I’m halfway to the kitchen when Mrs. Bennett comes out carrying a container of whipped topping and heads down the hall toward the garage freezer, saying something about needing the rest of the dessert before Zaire starts complaining.
I step aside to let her pass and wait until she disappears around the corner before continuing.
Khalil watches me approach over the edge of his glass. “No.”
I stop on the other side of the counter. “You don’t even know what I’m asking.”
“I know that smile.” He sets his glass beside him, his dark eyes moving briefly toward the living room. “And I know there are seven men back there pretending they aren’t watching us.”
I glance over my shoulder. Carter immediately looks down at his phone. Milo becomes deeply interested in whatever Dax is saying, Auden the only one who doesn’t bother pretending, his attention resting openly on me from the couch.
“They need a favor.” I turn back to him and brace my forearms against the counter. “The board decided the party needs two chaperones after the last one. Everyone we’ve come up with would either shut it down by ten or make us wish they had.”
Khalil’s eyebrows rise. “Chaperones.”
“Don’t enjoy that word too much. We’ve suffered enough.”
His mouth curves before he reaches for his wine again. “And somehow this became my problem?”
“Because you’re responsible, everybody likes you, and you already know most of us. You could show up, make sure nobody burns down the house, and spend the rest of the night minding your business.”
“That description of my responsibilities feels suspiciously incomplete.” He takes a slow sip, considering it while his gaze shifts beyond me toward the living room. “Dax suggested this?”
I laugh under my breath. “Dax has spent the last five minutes trying to kill the idea.”
“That sounds more like my son.”
I wait while he thinks, resisting the urge to fill the silence.
His attention drifts toward the guys again, lingering long enough on Auden that I turn slightly to see what caught his eye.
Auden’s listening to Carter now, his glasses resting a little lower on his nose while Zaire stretches an arm across the back of the couch behind him.
Nothing unusual, but when I look back at Khalil, he’s already watching me.
“Fine,” he says. “I can give up one Saturday night.”
My grin comes back immediately. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“Careful.” He reaches for his glass but doesn’t pick it up this time. “I’m agreeing to keep your party from getting canceled. That is all I’m agreeing to.”
I glance toward the hallway. Mrs. Bennett still hasn’t returned, and the angle of the kitchen keeps most of the living room from seeing anything below Khalil’s shoulders. I lower my voice. “You always get very specific when we’re alone, Khal.”
His expression changes at the nickname. It’s subtle, little more than his eyes narrowing as he steps closer to the counter, but my body remembers that look too fucking well.
“Don’t start.” His voice is quiet enough that it stays between us, though it almost rumbles when it comes out. “You and Zaire already have a problem keeping your hands to yourselves, and Saturday is not going to become a repeat of anything.”
I straighten slowly. “Auden keeps his hands to himself just fine.”
“That was not an invitation to negotiate.”
“Sounded a little like one.”
Khalil studies me for a moment before reaching across the counter and curling his fingers into the front of my shirt. The pull is firm enough to bring me closer without making a scene, my palms landing against the edge of the counter as his face tips down toward mine.
“We agreed it was one time,” he murmurs.
“You decided it was one time.” My gaze drops to his mouth before coming back to his eyes. “I remember being considerably less enthusiastic about that decision.”
His lips twitch, but the smile disappears when I lean the last inch closer.
I give him plenty of time to move away, knowing full well we could get caught.
Khalil closes the remaining distance and kisses me, his hand tightening further in my shirt as his mouth settles over mine.
I catch his waist as he draws me around the corner of the counter, putting the cabinets between us and the living room before he presses closer.
I kiss him deeper, my thumb sliding against his side while his free hand comes up behind my neck. The world around me disappears fast when he touches me like this, and the quiet rumbling purr he makes against my mouth has me forgetting entirely that there are seven people sitting twenty feet away.
Khalil breaks the kiss before I do, keeping me close while he catches his breath. “Hands.”
I look down to see both of mine are on his waist now, one dangerously close to becoming a liar about my ability to behave. “These?”
“Elio.”
I laugh softly and move them back to the counter. “Yes, sir.”
His eyes darken with desire before he fixes his expression, putting an inch of distance between us.
“That attitude is exactly why I’m reconsidering Saturday already.
” He smooths the front of my shirt where he wrinkled it, his thumb brushing once over my chest before dropping away.
“And out there, it’s Mr. Hawthorne. You know better. ”
“I do.” I lean close enough to steal one last, softer kiss before he can stop me. “See you Saturday, Khal.”
Khalil catches my lower lip between his teeth for half a second before releasing it. “Get out of the kitchen.”
By the time I walk back into the living room, I’ve mostly gotten my face under control.
Zaire takes one look at me and knows better, his eyes narrowing slightly before his gaze drops to my mouth.
I ignore him and reclaim my spot on the floor, settling between his legs while Auden shifts over enough to give me room.
Carter looks up from his phone. “Well? Are we still looking for somebody?”
“He said yes. He’ll chaperone Saturday.” I pick up my bowl again, finding the lasagna considerably less interesting now than it was five minutes ago. “Party’s on.”
A mix of relieved voices and plans starting back up where they left off erupt through the room. Dax stays where he is with his drink in one hand, staring at me like agreeing to let me speak to his dad may have been the worst decision he’s made all week.
“You’re welcome,” I tell him.
“I didn’t thank you.” Dax looks toward the kitchen, then back at me with a long sigh. “I already regret this.”
Zaire’s fingers brush once over the back of my head before falling away, and I catch the quiet question in his expression. I give him the smallest smile I can manage with Khalil’s taste still on my tongue.
Saturday suddenly sounds a hell of a lot more interesting.