Page 30 of Those Heartless Boys

I chuckle and do as he says. I’m pretty sure I’d flash him for a strip of that delicious smelling bacon if that’s what he wanted. He leads us outside, a plate full of omelets in one hand and the bacon in the other. When he sets the platters down, an alarm goes off on his phone. “That would be my cinnamon rolls.”

“Cinnamon rolls?”

No one answers as Wyatt holds onto his hat while he walk-runs back into the house. Stone retreats to the side patio where Wyatt pulled a pool towel out of just yesterday and returns with silverware. Lucas and I sit while Stone goes back, returning with a tray of glasses and a glass pitcher of orange juice.

Jesus. I think I died and went to food heaven.

I bite my lip, telling myself to get a hold of the emotions threatening to crawl out of me. The food at school is nothing compared to this. Plus, I’m only ever eating half of it because I try to save as much as I can for when I’m not in school. The omelet platter itself is piled high, enough for three or four for each of us if we want it. That’s not to mention the bacon and fucking cinnamon rolls.

Cinnamon rolls!

“Go ahead and start,” Lucas says, moving the omelet platter toward me. “I hope you like meat and cheese because Wyatt refuses to put vegetables in practically anything.”

I snicker. “I’m with Wyatt. Vegetables don’t belong in omelets.”

I take a plate from Stone and use my fork to slide one of the omelets onto it. I add a few strips of bacon, trying not to horde it like I want to. I’m just biting into the bacon, letting a “Mmm” pass from my lips in appreciation for the pork goodness, when Wyatt returns with the cinnamon rolls.

“That good, Tits?”

“You can’t call her Tits,” Stone says, voice firm as well...stone. Apt, of course, as everything Stone Jacobs does is ruled, measured, and well thought out.

“Why not? Lucas gets to call her Wild Girl.”

“Tits is so demeaning,” Stone says nonchalantly like we’re discussing the weather.

“Mmm,” Wyatt says, setting the cinnamon rolls down within reaching distance. I grab one just as he says, “You think that because you haven’t seen them yet.”

“Ever,” I say around a mouthful of omelet. “Won’t see them ever.” I can’t seem to stop shoving things into my mouth, which probably isn’t good while around three sexy as hell men. My cheeks flame. I definitely shouldn’t have thought that. Nope. Not ever. “You can call me Tits,” I say to Wyatt, trying to take their attention away from my red cheeks.

The guys settle into their seats around the stone patio table. I barely notice any of them are there as I dig into my meal. I only look up when I’m grabbing my third omelet from the tray and stuffing the last of my second cinnamon roll into my mouth. When I do, they’re all staring at me, but they quickly look away.

I cringe, telling myself to slow the fuck down. These assholes must eat like this all the time, so it’s not that big of a deal to them. I don’t need to stuff myself for days. My stomach clenches, and I decide I really do need to slow down. I eat my last omelet slowly. Then, I take one more cinnamon roll, picking it apart piece by piece while the rest of the guys finish their breakfasts. I finish the roll off with the remainder of my orange juice, sighing when I feel how full I am. It’s been a long time since that’s happened.

“Want more?” Stone asks. He lifts the orange juice pitcher, and I nod. He tops me off. When he settles back into his seat, he says, “We should probably talk about how we’re going to move forward.”

I eye the guys suspiciously. They’ve been alarmingly civil this morning, and I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop. There’s no talk of owning me or making sure I stay away from other people. In fact, it’s beenalmostnice. “Thanks for letting me sleep here last night,” I say tentatively. I was raised with fucking manners, and if someone lets you stay at their house because some weirdo walked into your dorm and left you a creepy message, you say thanks. Regardless of your feelings about said person. Or whether you trust them fully.

“That about killed you, didn’t it?” Stone asks.

I let out a breath. “Damn near. I think I feel a stroke coming on.”

“You know, our families don’t have to hate each other.” He pins me with a look that I know is just a trap waiting to spring.

“We’re just wired that way,” I tell him, shrugging like I can’t stop it, just like I couldn’t stop the world from turning if I wanted to.

“I’ve always thought it was dumb.”

“I’ve always thought it necessary,” I counter.

He narrows his gaze, and I find I actually do like talking to people. Who knew?

“Now that we’re working together, I hope you’ll open your mind a little more.”

I wipe my face with a napkin. “We’ll see,” I say. I stare around at the mess that’s left. We wiped out the omelets and the bacon. There are two cinnamon rolls left, and I have to tell myself that I don’t need to stuff them in my bag. I stand, taking my empty plate and starting to gather theirs as well.

“What are you doing?” Stone asks.

Lucas chuckles. “She’s cleaning up after herself.”

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