Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“WICKED GAME” BY URSINE VULPINE, ANNACA
NOX
I'm barely through the front door, still in my coffee-stained work shirt from the café, when I hear voices in the sitting room.
Specifically a male voice alongside Blossom’s.
A male voice I don't fucking recognize.
Something prickles at the back of my neck as I follow the sound, finding Steele already in the hallway, clearly having come from Chuck’s based on the grease stains on his hands. He’s wearing a frown, eyes darting to the living room.
We exchange a look, both of us on alert.
“Who's here?” I ask quietly, a hint of a growl in my tone.
He shrugs, but his jaw is tight. “Don't know. Some guy.”
Something in my chest tightens. We move toward the sitting room together, and I spot Anatole coming from the kitchen, his hair slightly mussed, a few leaves clinging to his t-shirt and dirt on his cheek. He's scowling.
“That's James, apparently,” he tells us, his tone sharp with something that sounds a lot like jealousy.
Same, bro. Fucking same.
“Wait, the therapist?” Steele asks.
“Yeah.” It’s practically a growl. “The one who just announced his arrival by yelling 'Honey, I'm home' like he fucking lives here.”
Oh, this should be good.
We enter the sitting room to find Blossom curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, talking to some guy I've never seen before. He's sitting close—too fucking close—in one of the armchairs that he's pulled nearer to her.
And he's handsome. Like, annoyingly, perfectly, rich bastard handsome. Probably mid-thirties, dark hair styled just so, wearing an expensive-looking sweater and designer glasses that no doubt cost more than my monthly rent used to.
He says something that makes her laugh — that genuine, unguarded laugh that does something stupid to my chest — and his hand reaches out, touches her arm.
Something dark and possessive flares in my chest. Ant and Steele stiffen either side of me.
This is James. The man who yells "Honey, I'm home" to our girl.
Yeah, fuck that.
“Oh!” Blossom spots us, her face lighting up in that way that makes my stomach flip. “Perfect timing. Come meet James.”
The guy — James — stands, extending his hand with an easy smile. All perfect fucking white teeth. I hate him. “You must be Justin’s brothers Blossom's been telling me about.”
I shake his hand, probably harder than necessary. “Nox.”
“Steele,” my brother rumbles, his handshake no gentler than mine.
“And I'm Anatole,” Ant adds, crossing his arms rather than shaking James's hand.
James doesn't seem fazed by the hostile reception, just smiles like he's used to it.
“James Carter. I'm the therapist who works with some of the kids here.” He sits back down, still too close to Blossom for my liking. “I usually come by on Mondays, mostly to check in with Sally and Rachel, do some sessions. But I’m available to all the kids.” He looks us over. “You too if you ever want to talk.”
I snort. “Right.” I cross my arms, mirroring Anatole's stance. “The therapist.” I practically spit the last word, but his perfect fucking smile doesn’t even dip once. Asshole.
Blossom's brows draw together slightly at my tone, but James just keeps on smiling.
“Blossom and I were just discussing Sally's progress,” he continues, turning that warm smile on her. “She's doing remarkably well. You should be very proud.”
“I am,” Blossom acknowledges softly, and the genuine affection in her voice when she looks at him makes something ugly twist in my gut.
“Well, I should go see if Sally's ready for our session,” James says, standing again. He leans down, and I tense as he drops a kiss on Blossom's cheek. “Thanks for the tea, Blossom. You're a gem, as always.”
His hand lingers on her shoulder as he straightens, and I want to rip it off.
“No problem, James. Sally should be in the conservatory,” Blossom replies warmly.
He gives us all a nod. “Gentlemen. Nice meeting you.”
None of us reply.
Once he's gone, Blossom stands up, turns to us, hands on her luscious hips. “What was that about?”
“What was what about?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.
“Don't play dumb, Nox. All three of you were practically growling at him.”
I shrug, moving into the room. “Just don't like strange men getting cozy with you.”
Her lips part. “Cozy? James is—”
“Yeah, yeah. He's the therapist. Got it.” I drop onto the couch with a huff where she'd been sitting, her warmth still in the cushions, her scent lingering. It loosens something in my chest. “Doesn't mean I have to like how close he was sitting.”
“Or how he was touching you,” Steele adds sullenly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Or how he kissed you,” Anatole finishes, his blue eyes intense as he gazes at her.
She stares at us for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Her eyebrows fly to her hairline. “Are you three... are you jealous?”
“No.”
Yes. Absolutely fucking yes.
“You are!” Her eyes widen, then a smile starts tugging at her lips. “You're all jealous of James.”
“We're not—” Anatole starts.
“We are,” I admit, because what's the point in lying? “So what?”
She's still smiling, shaking her head. Then she starts laughing.
Not a small laugh—a full, genuine, doubled-over laugh that has her wiping tears from her eyes.
“Oh my god,” she gasps between laughs. “You're all—you're jealous of James!”
“It's not funny, Petal,” I mutter, but even I can feel my lips twitching. She just has that effect on me.
“It really is,” she manages, still laughing, swiping her cheeks. “James is gay.”
Silence.
“What?” I ask, sitting up.
“James is gay. Very, very gay. He's married to his husband, Daniel. They just adopted a baby girl named Sophie.” She's grinning now, clearly enjoying this way too much. I’d be pissed, but I’m too fucking relieved.
“He kissed my cheek because that's just how he greets people he cares about.
He's been working with my kids for two years, he's like family.”
I feel heat creep up my neck. “Oh.”
“Oh indeed.” She's trying not to laugh at us again, her plush lips twitching and I just want to see how they’d twitch as I spank her naughty ass for letting us believe he was interested.
Though maybe we did jump to some conclusions.
“Were you three actually jealous of my kids' gay, married therapist?”
Anatole clears his throat, his cheeks red. “We didn't know he was gay.”
“Or married,” Steele adds.
“Or that he kisses everyone,” I mutter.
She walks over to me, sitting down next to me on the couch. She's close enough that I can see the flush still high on her cheeks, the pale skin of her wrist as her hand reaches my face, and something in me goes completely quiet.
I can feel her body heat all along my side and I tense as she reaches out, her fingers brushing my jaw. The touch sends electricity straight through me.“You were jealous,” she says softly, not a question, but her eyes won’t stop looking at mine.
“Said I was, didn't I?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
Her eyes move between the three of us, something unreadable in their hazel depths. “All of you were.”
“Yeah, Petal,” I confess quietly, her beautiful eyes coming back to me. “All of us.”
The air feels charged, like something's about to break open between us. Her hand is still on my face, and I can see Anatole and Steele both watching us with that same hungry intensity I'm trying to hide.
Then James's voice calls from somewhere, breaking the moment. “Blossom? Could you come here for a second? Sally wants to ask you something.”
“I should go check on that,” she says, pulling her hand away from my face. “Sally still has issues with men, even James who she knows is safe.”
I catch her wrist gently. “Blossom—”
“Later,” she whispers, and I see something like hope and fear warring in her expression. “We can talk later. Promise.”
Then she's gone, and I'm left sitting there with my brothers, all of us watching her go.
“Well,” Anatole says into the silence. “That was enlightening.”
“We're all jackassess,” I mutter, a huff of laughter escaping me.
“Yeah,” Steele agrees. “We really are.”
But the truth is hanging in the air between us now, unspoken but undeniable.
We're all falling for her.
And we have no fucking clue what to do about it.
Later, I find Steele in the garage, elbow-deep in the engine of our old truck. The sharp scent of motor oil and metal fills the space, mixing with that wild, piney scent that's distinctly him.
“So, James comes every Monday,” I say without preamble, leaning against the workbench.
He doesn't look up from whatever he's doing to the engine. “Apparently.”
“You gonna be okay with that? Him kissing her every week? Even if he’s gay and married.” Yeah I know I sound like a dick, but, something in me still doesn’t like it. Like his lips being on her more than mine are.
Now he looks up, wiping his hands on a rag. “He's gay and married. Not a threat.”
“Doesn't mean I like it.” I reply, voicing my thoughts. Steele won’t judge me, especially since the tightening of his lips says he feels similarly.
“Neither do I.” He tosses the rag aside, his dark eyes meeting mine. “But we don't exactly have a claim on her, do we?”
There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something that says perhaps he’s leading me down a path he wants me to go.
I'm quiet for a moment. “What if we did?”
His hands still. “Did what?”
“What if we did have a claim on her?” I push off the workbench, shoving my hands in my pockets. “All three of us.”
Steele's gaze sharpens, his lips twitching and I can’t help feeling I’m playing catch up. “You want to talk about this now?”
“Why not? We're both thinking it.” I take a breath. “You've already slept with her. Left your marks all over her neck for everyone to see.”
“Yeah, I did. Her body too.” No apology in his tone, and fuck, a bolt of lust filled envy flies through me. “And I'd do it again. Will do it again.”