Page 29 of Gorgeous

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 assholeis 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 towork 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.

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