Page 30 of Breakfast Included

Ricky had been at practice that morning and managed to beg out for a couple of hours to share at least some of the day with them. Things would be too crazy post-game to spend any quality time together. Reno and their dad had box seats for the game tonight, but Ricky wouldn’t be able to spend any time there with them either.

“I’m always ready,” Ricky joked and then with more seriousness said, “Who do I have to beat up?”

Reno half chuckled, half snorted. So much for keeping the topic to hockey. “What makes you think anyone needs beating up?”

“Please,” Ricky replied, and his dark brows lowered over eyes as blue as Reno’s. “I may not be around much anymore, but I know when my little brother is upset.”

Reno appreciated the sentiment, truly, but he wasn’t sixteen anymore. He didn’t need his big brother, the hockey enforcer, to fight his battles for him. Literally or figuratively.

“Save it for the ice,” Reno said and flashed a half smile. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now.”

Ricky harrumphed. “Fine. If that’s how you want to play it.”

“That’s how I want to play it.”

“Okay then.” Ricky stood and grabbed Reno’s empty glass. “Quit pouting, then, before Dad stops pretending he doesn’t notice and goes all papa bear on you.”

Reno dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “I’m that obvious?”

“When you think no one is watching, yes.” Ricky shook the cubes in Reno’s glass. “I’ll get you a refill. More juice, less booze this time.”

Ricky left him sitting on the couch to ponder his lot in life when the doorbell rang. Reno stood. He needed the distraction, but his dad came trotting down the stairs.

“I got it,” he shouted and disappeared into the foyer. His dad’s voice echoed as he greeted whoever was at the door. Hopefully not another blind date. The very last thing Reno could deal with tonight was another damn blind date.

Ricky returned with a fresh drink for him. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

Reno reached for the glass and froze. His hand hung suspended in midair, forgotten. He recognized the voice of their visitor. A deep, slightly husky timbre that he would never forget, yet at the same time never wanted to hear again. He narrowed his eyes, irritated at the nerve of the man to show up here while his traitorous heart skipped a happy beat and jubilant notes of hope pulsed through his veins.

Ricky, still holding the drink out for Reno, frowned. “What?”

Reno shook his head, snatched the glass, and chugged the whole thing back in three huge gulps. He needed the fortification, and fast, to deal with whatever Tate-fucking-Boylan wanted.

“What’s going on, Reno?” Ricky demanded, but the last thing Reno was going to do was tell him. He didn’t want to see Tate ever again, but he didn’t want to see Ricky take a strip off him either. Stupid emotions.

“Look who’s here, boys.” Their dad damn near glowed as he entered the living room with a pensive-looking Tate on his heels. Dad had always loved Tate and considered him part of the family. Knowing his dad, he’d already invited Tate to join them for the night, too.

More fortification was needed.

Tate’s gaze zeroed directly on Reno and locked on. He looked good, the bastard. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his red hair—that Reno knew felt silky soft against his skin—was a sexy mess from the hat he now held in one hand. There was a cautious eagerness in his expression, and for a moment, an awkward energy charged the air.

“Tate! Hey, man,” Ricky said with surprised excitement, and started forward, but his steps faltered when Tate didn’t look at him. Ricky looked back at Reno and again at Tate. He took a step back to position himself between Reno and Tate and crossed his arms.

“What did you do?” Ricky demanded with a threatening edge in his voice.

Reno sighed. He put a hand on Ricky’s shoulder.

“Chill, bro. I’ve got this.”

Ricky gave him a long, assessing glare and dropped his arms. He took another step back but only to stand at Reno’s side. Their dad’s eyes darted between Ricky and Reno and Tate, and a line of confusion creased his forehead. As far as their dad knew, the three of them had been the best of friends, and it was merely life paths that separated them. Which had been true up until a week ago.

Reno leveled a hard glare at Tate.

“What are you doing here?” There was a rough edge to his voice, but he was happy with himself that it didn’t crack.

Tate shifted on his feet and held up a package Reno hadn’t noticed he’d been holding in his other hand. It was a small square box wrapped in shiny silver paper and tied with a white satin ribbon.

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