I can’t tear my eyes away as she stands on her toes and wraps her arms around Vic’s neck. They stay that way, locked together, and I know she’s not going anywhere now. Whatever happened in the kitchen this morning probably had something to do with Vic’s past. But by the way Vic curls into her, taking her comfort, I am certain she knows what caused his outburst this morning.
Bonds like those are unbreakable.
I should know. It’s what anchors me to Anniston. No one understands my faults and my demons like she does, and no matter what happens, I will never let our friendship go.
Breck and Vic separate, and I notice Breck wipes at her eyes. Is she crying? I’m curious about what they were talking about, but I won’t ask. I can respect Vic’s privacy. When he wants to share with me, he will.
“You think he’s alright?” Mason takes the spot next to me and gazes out the back door, watching Vic and Breck throw a ball to Killer.
I don’t know if he’s okay or not, so rather than answer him, I ask what I need to know. “What did Anniston say?”
In my peripheral, I see him shrug his shoulder. “She said she would call him later.” Knowing Anniston will call him makes me feel a little better. I won’t be surprised if she comes home early to be with him.
“Do you think we should still shoot today?”
I debate Mason’s question for a minute and then decide that keeping our routine will be consistent, and I know firsthand that when your life seems to be spiraling out of control, having consistency is like a life raft that you can hang on to.
“Yeah, we’ll give him a few minutes and then go.”
But Vic doesn’t need a few minutes. He and Breck are walking toward the house and Mason and I immediately scatter like two chicks eavesdropping in the bathroom stalls. Mason darts up the stairs, and I round the corner and slide into my office, taking a seat at the desk like that was my intent all along.
Laughter filters through the house as Breck’s sweet chuckle glides across my skin and goes straight to my dick.
“Are you saying my pies were dry?”
“No, I’m just saying they could have used a little more butter to flake the top.”
Vic? A flaky top? What in the ever-loving fuck does he know about cooking? He burns cereal.
A hearty, throaty sound rings closer to the kitchen and I imagine Breck’s head thrown back, her sparkling gray eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Well, Chef Vic—wait, is Vic short for anything?”
There’s hesitation from Vic, like he’s deciding if he wants to let Breck in, to let her get to know the real him, or keep some of his secrets and his distance from her.
A throat clears and then, “It’s Vincent.”
Breck, unaware of such a monumental disclosure continues on with her annoyingly happy tone. “Well, Chef Vincent, I’m eager to learn your secrets. Please enlighten me on the art of the perfect pie crust.”
Vic’s chuckle fades, and I feel sure they turned for the kitchen. I fiddle with my phone, no longer able to hear what they are saying from my position in the office. I’m stunned. Vic knows how to cook? Why hasn’t he been cooking? Why have we been choking down shit that looks like something Killer barfed up? Was it all a joke? And what did Breck do to change his mind?
So many fucking questions and I can’t get any answers because I’ve been hateful and avoiding Breck. As mean as I’ve been to her, I doubt she’ll even grace me with an explanation, let alone a secret she shares with Vic.
I pull up Theo’s number and type out a quick text.
Vic knows how to cook.
In my haste to purge the long-standing charade Vic had going, I fail to anticipate the response I get out of Theo with that text. He doesn’t disappoint.
Have you been taking Anniston’s birth control pills again?
It was one time!
Anniston gave one to me, claiming it was anti-anxiety medicine to calm me down before I threw out the first pitch at the Atlanta Stadium for a Memorial Day baseball game. Instead of Xanax, it was one of the sugar pills in her monthly pill pack. Either way, Theo won’t ever let me live it down.
I’m serious, I respond.
So am I. You sound like a chick. Who gives a fuck if he cooks?
I’m at a loss and let my head bang against the desk, laughing. Von Bremen has a way of making you feel like an idiot.
Because he never has before, I argue, booting up my laptop.
Well, you haven’t had sex in a million years either but I doubt we’ll gasp and send out a group text when some no name finally pops your cherry.
Before I can respond, another text from him comes through.
I take that back. We’ll probably throw a party for the poor girl. She’ll need some comforting after that major flop of an experience.
You’re an asshole is all I respond with.
And you’re hormonal. Get laid and stop fussing over Vic and his cooking skills. He’s allowed to have secrets, Jameson.
In a way, Theo is right. Not that I need to get laid, but that Vic is entitled to his secrets. I certainly have mine and appreciate that none of the guys try to weasel them out of me. Thankfully, Theo isn’t one for a heart-to-heart chat so he never asks or acts like he gives a fuck.
I send Theo the finger emoji which he returns with a GIF of two girls kissing that I may have saved to my phone for later. I get to work on my computer, catching up the budgets for the foundation. I don’t want to seem obvious hovering around the kitchen to see what Vic and Breck are up to.
Before long, two hours go by and the kink in my neck is all the convincing I need to call it a day. I stand, stretching the muscles in my back and arms before I lumber out into the hallway.
The house is quiet.
I poke my head around the corner, chancing a look into the kitchen. The counters have been wiped down, and the dishwasher is humming. No food is left out and I find that rather disappointing. Not that I would ever mention it to Breck. If I’m hungry, I can make myself something to eat. I don’t need her to do it.
I wander through the halls, looking for any sign of the guys, when a faint singing stops me. It’s coming from the gym. I creep closer, the humming getting louder. I peek through the crack where Breck has left the door ajar, and my mouth fucking waters at the sight before me.
With a cloth between her fingers, Breck is singing a song about a lollipop. Full and plump, her lips mouth the words into the mirror, her tongue snaking out, licking and caressing the softness there. I find myself biting down on my own lips, containing almost a whine of neediness when Breck pops her hips out to a certain part of the song. The scrap of fabric she calls a romper is inching higher with each shake of her rounded, voluptuous ass.
Oh my God? Is she trying to twerk?
Breck arches her back, engrossed in the music, and pops her hips in and out, thrusting slowly like she’s riding—get a grip, Cade.
I manage to tear my eyes from her ass when she straightens, the music fading. She scrubs at a spot on the wall of mirrors and I laugh silently when her brows lower, her mouth pulled tight in concentration as she works the rag, trying to clean a nuisance spot.
When she tries scratching it with her fingernail, I make my appearance known. “I wouldn’t touch that mirror without gloves.”
Breck startles, her head whipping around, and then very carefully, she tugs the hem of her “romper” down. Fashion my ass. She looks like she would rather be wearing anything but the teasing wardrobe choice only meant to piss me off. I know her game, and I’m not biting.
“Why? What’s wrong with touching it?”
I pull my gaze from the laced hem of her shorts to her curious eyes and push further into the gym, coming to stand behind her.
I don’t know why I like to make her uncomfortable. She fidgets, watching me watching her in the mirror. Slowly, I drag the pad of my finger along her hand, up her arm, stopping at her bare shoulder. She shivers, and a smile tugs at my lips before I lean in, inhaling her sweet scent. “Because that mirror has seen more dicks than a brothel.”
A sharp inhale is her only reaction.
I chuckle, placing both hands on her delicate shoulders which fit perfectly in my palms. “This is Theo and Ans’ favorite place.” I nod to a spot near the bench that no one uses except for them and possibly Hayes. He has no shame. I’m sure he’s christened nearly all the equipment.
Breck swallows. “What about you? Is this your favorite place?”
The shower is my favorite place as of late but I wouldn’t dare admit to gripping myself with enough force to kill a man, envisioning yanking Breck’s head back by her hair while she screams out my name as I impale her from behind. Nah. I think I’ll keep that to myself.
“I don’t know.” I breathe my answer along her neck, my lips almost grazing her ear. “I haven’t had anyone to try it out on.”
Breck blinks nervously.
Why the fuck did I tell her that? Great, Cade. You look like a damn loser.
I push away, a scowl already forming on my face. With a couple of steps back, safely away from the alluring smell of apples, my voice—and sense—goes back to normal.
“I … uh,” I start, tongue-tied at what I need to say versus what I want to say. I want to ask Breck what Vic said to her outside. I want to ask what she said to have him back in the kitchen with laughter in his voice.
But I don’t ask her any of those things. Instead, my gaze drops to the floor. “Whatever you said to Vic …” I swallow and meet her eyes that now shine with … unshed tears? “Thank you.” I hurry out the rest, afraid if she keeps looking at me like she wants to touch me, I may let her. “It’s hard for us to talk about things sometimes. The fact that Vic confided in you is …” I shake my head, still shocked that he confided in Breck instead of me or Anniston. “Unbelievable. He must really trust you.”
Translation: You must be more amazing than I imagined.
A smile tugs at the corner of Breck’s lip. “So, you wanna grab a rag and help me wipe off the dried jizz on this mirror to thank me?”
Low laughter spills out between my fingers as I attempt to mask the amusement at her quick change of topics. She smiles, proud of her comeback, and extends the cloth out to me. I back up, already shaking my head. “Fuck no. Why are you even cleaning it?”
She’s here to cook, not clean. Anniston made sure we knew that before she left. Commander didn’t want us being lazy asses and allowing sweet Breck to volunteer for all the household duties.
Breck shrugs. “I was bored, and I thought I might as well be useful.”
I roll my eyes at her generosity and snatch the rag from her hand. “It’s Hayes’ turn to clean. There is a schedule posted on the door.” I point to the laminated calendar taped there. “Besides, most of the” —my brows lift when I quote her—“‘jizz’ is probably his.”
Her face scrunches up like she tasted something sour.
“Gross,” she says simply, backing away from the mirror.
With a smile, I head towards the door. “Come on, we’re going out back to skeet shoot.”
In her defense, she only looks slightly scared for a second.
In my defense, her innocence makes me weak as fuck and I asked her before my brain caught up to my actions.
“B!”
Mason shouts to Breck from the bed of my truck, reaching over the side for her hand. She squeals and takes off in the worst run I’ve ever seen. She could use some lessons on proper spine alignment. I hold back a smile as Hayes lifts her over the edge, grabbing his back in a moan when he sets her down in the bed with him, Mason, and Killer.
She slaps his shoulder as Hayes winces. “What did you eat this morning? Lead?” Breck shoves him, and he grabs her hands, pulling her into him for a hug. “I’m just teasing, darlin.” Still in his arms, Hayes winks at me over her head. I keep my cool, walking over to the driver’s side and opening the door.
“Hey, Major?” Groaning, I push back from the door and peer into the back where Hayes has finally let go of Breck. “You planning on teaching her to shoot?”
I shrug a shoulder and remain indifferent even though my dick just jumped at the idea of wrapping my arms around Breck, my hands on hers, breathing calmly into her ear and telling her when to pull.
“If she wants to,” I say to the way too eager sniper who is still far too close to Breck for my liking. But he knows he is, and that’s exactly why he’s staying so close. He loves to push my fucking buttons. Not much gets under my skin … except this girl.
My jelly girl.
The brunette that annoys me and intrigues me.
The first woman in five years to get a reaction out of my dick.
“Whad’ya say, honey? Want the best sharp shooter in the southeast to teach you how to beat the major in skeet shooting?”
I make a face when he winks over her head while she blabbers about not being sure if she wants to or not.
I’m not going to stand in his way if he really wants to teach her. Hayes’ eagerness to pick up a shotgun is nothing short of a miracle. Eighteen months ago, he couldn’t look at a gun without having an anxiety attack. It wasn’t until he had to fire a shot into Lou, to save Anniston, that he overcame most of his issues. He still doesn’t practice sniping, as was his profession in the military, but he will shoot skeets with us and practice with targets occasionally.
Anniston and I consider anything gun related a win.
“We need to get moving. It will only get hotter,” I say, rethinking this whole idea when I see that Breck’s romper is already sticking to her breasts. Her neck is damp and the hair at her ears is starting to curl. “Breck, get in the cab with Tim. Vic can ride in the back.”
Breck glares at me, her chin tipped down and her smile bearing way too much confidence. “I’m good here, thanks.”
Hayes wastes no time jumping in. “I’ll take care of her, Major. Come on, beautiful. You can sit in my lap so I can keep my arms around you.” The walking erection flops down in the bed and pats his lap for a grinning Breck. “Safety first, B. Ain’t that right, Major?”
He wants me to beat the fuck out of him.
He’s literally daring me to punch the cocky smirk right off his face.
I play it cool, tamping down the urge to snatch him out of my truck and take a cheap shot at his pretty-boy face. “Right. Safety first. Let’s go.” I tap the edge of the truck and get in, feeling petty when I see Hayes’ smile drop. Another confirmation he’s not into Breck and only doing these things to piss me off.
After putting the truck in gear, I turn up the country song about a body like a back road, reminding me of Breck’s delightful curves.
“Ooh! Turn it up!” she yells into the open back window.
“Sit down,” I scold her when she stands up against the back glass, her hips already moving to the music.
“I promise, I’ll hang on,” she screams over the wind. Vic tosses me an amused grin as he watches Breck dance in the bed of my pickup. I slow down, careful not to jostle her since she’s stubborn as fuck, and find my eyes darting to the review mirror more than they should.
Her hands drum on the hood as the chorus kicks up and I have to fight the urge to slam on the brakes just to take it all in. Her rhythmic hips sway behind the glass, matching the melody of the song that seems to have been written just for her.
But I don’t stop.
I don’t take it all in.
Instead, I tap the brakes and bark out, “Keep your hands on the hood!”
She laughs, unfazed. “Yes, sir,” she says, but she doesn’t put her hands down. She reaches up even farther, pissing me off more when the shorts of her romper lift up higher, exposing a small birthmark on her inner thigh. Tim masks a laugh and Vic looks out his window to hide his own smile.
I sigh. “The fucking women in this house…”
Vic chuckles and raps his knuckles against the door. “It’s best if you realize it now.”
“Realize what?”
Vic stares longingly out at the hills as the new barracks we’re building come into view. “That you’re already done for.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell him. Really. He might as well be speaking Mandarin right now.
Vic blows out a breath and smiles. “You’ll know soon enough.”
I slow to a stop and Hayes bails out the side, helping Breck down. Vic hops out with Tim right behind him and I don’t have time to ask him exactly what he meant about knowing soon enough. Sounds like voodoo to me.
Everyone has already gone around to the back of the barracks and set up by the time I arrive. Hayes is going through the basics of gun safety with B. “This is the safety here.” He demonstrates how to flip it off and on and then explains how to track the skeet and brace the shotgun against your shoulder. Breck nods and worries a piece of hair between her fingers.
“Will the kickback hurt?”
Mason makes an amused sound low in his throat before answering. “We’re just using a twenty gauge.”
Breck casts a worried look at me and I explain. “The smaller the gauge, the less of a kick it has.” I walk over and pick one up, running my hand over the barrel. “You’ll be fine.”
Breck takes a deep breath and bobs her head up and down like she’s trying to will the confidence into herself. “Yeah. I’m ‘bout to smoke y’all bitches.”
I choke on a laugh when the guys all join in a cacophony of laughter.
“Come on, Annie Oakley, let’s see what you got.” I tug Breck by the arm to the designated spot and Mason mans the skeet shooter, ready for B’s command. Hayes passes me the cocked and loaded gun, and I place it into Breck’s shaking hands. “You’re okay,” I soothe, coming up behind her, my fantasy coming true as I place my hands on top of hers. “Breathe with me,” I tell her, my voice deep and raspy as I struggle to hear it over the intense pounding of my pulse.
In and out, Breck breathes in time with me until her hands have stopped shaking. “We’ll do this first one together, okay?” She whimpers out a noncommittal noise and I take that as an answer. “When you’re ready, yell pull.”
We breathe another few breaths together and then she yells into the open pasture, “Pull!”
The machine raps out a springing type sound and my eyes track the discs’ movement in the sky. I pull on Breck’s arms and she follows my movement fluidly. My index finger presses harder on hers. “Squeeze,” I whisper into her ear, pressing down on her finger. She does, and a loud pop sounds right before the clay disc explodes.
“I did it!” she shouts, handing me the gun so she can jump up and down. I hand it over to a grinning Hayes as we both watch her silly victory dab. “I really did it,” she cries out, her voice growing louder right before she rushes me, jumping up for a hug. I catch her in midair, the momentum making me take a step back. She’s excited, her uneven breaths blowing the tiny hairs along the back of my neck.
“I did it,” she mumbles, squeezing my shoulders in a hold I’m sure she considers tight.
“You did,” I repeat, basking in the sweet smell of honey from her hair. Breck’s body molds to mine, and fuck if I want to put her down.
The old Cade wouldn’t have.
The old Cade would take her back to one of the empty rooms and celebrate the victory with her.
Instead, the new Cade sets her down on her feet and asks, “Can I offer you a ride home?”